It's About Treachery
by BlackhawkCarol
Summary: The paternity results are in, and all is good for Joe and Stephanie again, right? Wrong! The Morelli boys are up to their necks in trouble, and Stephanie is wondering if she'll be able to resurrect her friendship with Ranger. While our Cupcake couple may have learned the value of truth, those around them are still facing the consequences of secrets, lies and betrayal.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Good grief. I couldn't even take a couple of days off, because these doggone characters will NOT stop telling me their story. So I said to heck with the vacation and started writing instead. LOL!

If you're just stumbling upon this story for the first time, please go back and start with "It's About Time", otherwise you will be completely lost. For those who've been following the tale, welcome back. I hope you'll stick with me on this journey as well. I'm going WAY outside my comfort zone on this one folks, as you'll discover halfway through the first chapter. Hopefully those of you who are sticklers for continuity like I am won't be deterred from reading on.

Say, Julie's back too as my Beta reader. Hurray! Per usual, she helped with content, so thank you, thank you. Also thanks to rangergirl1234 for her continued guidance on the character of Ranger.

Constructive feedback is always welcomed and appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter One

"You know she's going to want it."

"No."

"I'm telling you—she'll fight you hard on this one."

"I don't care."

"You're actually going to go up against your own mother?"

"Yep."

"No way."

"Cupcake, when have you _ever _known me to be overly concerned about doing what my mother wants?"

"Never, but, come _on_—Joseph's a great name."

"Glad you think so. But it's not going to be the name of my son if we have one."

"We could call him JJ or Junior?"

"Yeah, and we could get divorced too."

"Joseph Anthony Morelli—I'm shocked! How could you not want—" I scolded, pretending to sound like his mother and failing miserably, mostly because I was laughing uncontrollably. Of course the latter probably had to do with the fact that my husband had tossed the baby name book I'd been skimming over his shoulder and pinned me to our mattress before I could even finish the sentence.

Joe's fast fingers were already working their way through the buttons on my shirt. "I can think of _a lot _better things to do on a Sunday afternoon than look at baby names," he noted with a sly grin. His steamy, brown eyes were practically melting the buttons away on their own.

Still giggling, I responded, "We've already done that thing _a lot_ today. Four times if I remember correctly."

"Five," Joe mumbled against my now partially exposed breast. "You're forgetting when I got home at two in the morning. That counts as today too."

"Well, good grief—don't you think that's enough then?" I asked with pseudo indignation.

He looked up briefly to make it clear he thought I'd lost my mind. "It will _never _be enough, Cupcake, and especially right now."

He didn't have to clarify what 'right now' meant. No doubt he was referring to the fact we'd both been nearly insatiable since finding out two days ago we were having twins—both of which were true Morelli babies. By unspoken agreement we'd shut out the rest of the world that weekend, needing the chance to reconnect after all the stress we'd experienced since returning from our wedding and honeymoon in Barbados a week ago. Finding out I was pregnant, confessing to Joe that my ongoing relationship with Ranger might have resulted in him being the father of my baby and enduring the endless wait and worry of the paternity test had taken a huge toll on us both.

Even though Joe himself was still facing incredible stress—both from his job and the fact that his two older brothers were missing—he too had wanted nothing more than to hibernate and enjoy our own private celebration. The only time we'd been separated was when he'd been called to the scene of a homicide early last evening for several hours. Afterward he'd felt compelled to search for Tony and Paul again at all of their usual haunts but to no avail.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are yet today?" he mused in a low voice. His mouth had already made its way down my belly to the snap of my blue jeans. "It's almost scary how much I want you, Stephanie—all the time."

Running my hands across his shoulders, my laughter had completely died. "I guess I must be pretty frightened then too," I admitted, shifting my hips so he could shimmy off my jeans, "because I want you just as much." As I tugged his long-sleeved t-shirt over his head, I pondered, "Do you think something's wrong with us that we never seem to be sated?"

"Yeah, they call it being newlyweds," Joe quipped, while quickly shedding his own jeans. "Problem is we're only going to be able to use that excuse for so long. I'm not sure what excuse we'll have to use when we're still insatiable thirty years from now." Tracing a finger along the lace edge of my panties, he added almost wistfully, "We should have gotten married years ago. Just think of how many more—"

I tugged him down back down on top of me. "No looking back anymore, Morelli, and no more regrets, remember? We're only looking forward now." I'd said it for myself as much as for him. We both needed to start putting the past behind us, although in both cases it was going to be extremely difficult.

Joe was still reeling from learning the truth about one of his greatest regrets—the fact that he'd been kept in the dark about the horrors surrounding his siblings when they were growing up. Now with his oldest brother's preliminary hearing on drug charges scheduled for tomorrow morning, he was facing additional pressure from his boss, acting chief of police Brett Rogers, to track down Tony in order to lure his other brother Paul into captivity. Toss in the fact Joe was in charge of the related Nagel drug/murder investigation, which also was linked to his brothers, and you had a recipe for stress soup.

Joe was busy using his teeth to pull my panties down. He'd yet to shave that day, and his long past five o'clock shadow made a delicious tickling sensation against my inner thighs. "Hurry," I said, more urgently than I probably ought to sound after already having had _multiple _orgasms that day. For some reason though, just as Joe had said, it never seemed to be enough. His tongue was _inches_ from honing in on the spot guaranteed to make me beg when my cell phone rang on top of the nightstand.

"Ignore it," I panted, closing my eyes and willing Joe to move his tongue back two inches to the left.

Instead he lifted his head and leaned over to check the Caller ID on the phone. His eyes shot to mine and immediately a shutter came down over his. "It's Tank," he said simply.

As if a bucket of cold water had been doused over the two of us, the reason for my needing to put the past behind me hit us squarely in the face once more. There was only one reason I could think of that Tank would be calling my cell phone on a Sunday afternoon, and it wasn't about his live-in love Lula.

Joe slid off to the side and grabbed the phone as it continued to ring. "You'd better answer it," he said neutrally.

Hitting the talk button, I greeted tentatively, "Hey Tank. What's up?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," the man I called a gentle giant responded cautiously. Not one to mince words—let alone talk very much—he nevertheless broached the subject I'd been dreading. "What's going on with Ranger?"

Clearing my throat, I glanced at Joe out of the corner of my eye. He was making every effort to appear relaxed and unthreatened by the call, but I could tell he was already reliving his last conversation with Ranger on Friday right after Dr. Hamilton had delivered the results of the paternity test.

"What do you mean?" I stalled uncomfortably. As far as I knew, Ranger hadn't told anyone about the paternity test, and I wasn't sure if he'd want me talking to Tank about it—regardless of whether he was Ranger's best friend or not.

"Come on, Stephanie," Tank chided. "I _know _something's going on. I just wish someone would clue me in on whatever the hell it is. Lula's got her jaw clamped shut so tightly it's a wonder it hasn't broken. My baby _never _hesitates to spill the beans, so I know you two have an idea of what's kept my boss locked up in his penthouse all weekend."

"All weekend?" I repeated in a low, anxious voice.

"Yes ma'am. Now spill it."

"What makes you think it has something to do with me?" I attempted to put him off again, still unsure of how much information to divulge.

"For one thing you're the only one that could get him this upset over something, and secondly Cal told me Ranger did the same thing two weekends ago when you and Morelli got married."

_Shit._

"Hold on," I muttered to Tank. Covering the phone with my hand, I turned to Joe. "He's barricaded himself up in the penthouse, and Tank's concerned. "What do I do?"

Joe let out a long suffering sigh, clearly not wanting to get involved and yet feeling the same guilt I did knowing we'd partially caused this situation. Opening his eyes, he looked directly into mine and said, "Tell him the truth," he advised. "_Someone _needs to talk with Manoso. Maybe Tank can get through to him. It can't be us, Cupcake."

I nodded. "Agreed."

"Okay, here's the deal," I spoke back into the phone. "I'm going to share with you, Tank, but this is for your ears only—understand?"

"Done."

"Last week I found out I'm pregnant."

"Oh."

_Silence_

He finally managed to stumble out, "Wow—that was fast. Uh—congratulations."

"Thanks," I blurted self-consciously. "The thing is—" God, this was still so hard to do even though we'd been dealing with it for the past week. "The thing is we weren't sure if the baby was Joe's or Ranger's until we received results from a paternity test last Friday."

_Silence._

"I see," Tank finally replied uncomfortably. "I take it the baby is Morelli's?"

"Bab—_ies_," I emphasized softly. "There are twins, Tank—both Joe's—and Ranger doesn't know about the second baby yet."

"_Fuck," _he cursed almost inaudibly. "He's got to be dying up there."

"What!" I exclaimed.

"Not literally," Tank hastened to assure me. "But this on top of the marriage?" he paused, not knowing what to say, so he simply repeated, "Fuck."

I bent my knee to brace my elbow on it, cupping my head in my hand. Not surprisingly, my eyes were teary already. That had been a nonstop problem for me of late. "I know," I whispered into the telephone. "Joe and I both feel torn up about it, Tank—honest. Joe tried talking to Ranger after the results were given."

"And he's still breathing?" Tank asked in his deep, rumble of a tone. I didn't think he was trying to be funny.

"Yeah. He said some pretty amazing things to Ranger actually," I indicated, smiling as Joe reached out a hand and ran it up and down my bare calf in support.

"I'm sure they fell on deaf ears."

"Pretty much," I agreed. "He really needs to talk to someone about it though."

Tank exhaled loudly. "And I suppose you think that someone should be me."

"Well, it can't be me for obvious reasons, so, yeah, I guess that pretty much leaves you."

He grunted. "Promise me you'll look after Lula for me when I'm gone?"

I couldn't help but give a short laugh. Who knew this man had a sense of humor? "He's not going to kill you, Tank."

"I sure as hell hope not. I'm pretty happy about being back with _my_ baby."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd call me later and tell me how he's doing."

"Will do." I moved to disconnect, but heard him call my name. "Oh, and Steph?"

"Yeah?"

"That really is amazing news. Can I tell Lula about the twins?"

One corner of my mouth lifted at the reaction she'd most likely have. "Go ahead."

Tossing the phone aside, I slid back down onto my side and into Joe's arms. "Despite our happiness, it's still hanging there—all the time—isn't it."

"What—the fact that Ranger's hurting?" Joe clarified, and then answered his own question with a simple. "Yeah, it is."

Trying to shake off the sudden melancholy of the moment, I said, "Well if Tank's planning on telling Lula, I guess you and I'd better hurry up and tell our parents as well. The whole Burg is liable to know by morning."

"It'll be nice to set the 'tongue wagglers' straight about my virility," Joe noted with a set jaw. He was still obviously peeved over the whole impotency rumor that had run rampant through Trenton last week.

Sliding my naked body on top of his, I began to kiss his jaw line. "Want me to put an article in the paper announcing the twins?" I asked between kisses. "I bet if I tried I could come up with some really good quotes that would attest to your stud-worthiness."

"No thanks," his hands were cupped over my rear end, rubbing me against his hardened length. "I have a better idea about what you could do with your time and energy."

"I know!" I cried teasingly. "I can put a picture of you on a bus with the slogan, 'Joe Morelli—TPD cop whose semen never stops'. Look how much attention I got from having my picture on a bus. You'd be infamous, honey."

"Cute. So we're back to the 'honey' bit, huh?" He raised an eyebrow sardonically. "Well no thanks, sugar. I don't think my children would appreciate knowing _both _their parents' pictures appeared on the side of a bus."

"How about—?"

Joe flipped us over and silenced my mouth with a heated kiss. "How about I show _you _just how virile I can be before we have to face our parents tonight."

I pretended to ponder his suggestion. "Okay, but I have to warn you—I'm a slow learner. You may have to show me twice."

"That's okay, Cupcake," he gave me a sexy grin. "For you I _won't _ever stop."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

The sound of pounding on the door leading to the fire stairwell awakened me from the depthless relief of sleep.

_What the hell?_

A quick glance at the bedside clock showed it was approaching six o'clock. But was it day or night? With the blackout drapes pulled in my room, it could easily have been either one. Dropping my head back against the pillow, I closed my eyes again. _God, I was tired. _It seemed like I'd just fallen asleep, and yet it could have been hours that I'd succumbed to the welcome darkness. I'd long ago lost track of when I was waking or sleeping and had stopped caring well before that.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Cursing softly, I knew there was only one person who would dare to ignore the fact I'd shut off elevator access to my floor. Leave it to Tank to defy my obvious wish to be left alone.

_Bang. Bang._

"Open up, Ranger," came his booming voice. Not many people knew that the soft-spoken, man of few words could bellow louder than a foghorn when necessary.

Christ, the last thing I wanted was to talk to anyone right now—least of all Tank, who'd see through anything I said right away.

I'd successfully managed to lock myself away from prying eyes, hypersensitive ears and overactive imaginations for the past three days. Normally being among my team would have provided me with an infinite number of opportunities to immerse myself in work and anesthetize myself from pain and disappointment. It's not that I wanted to ignore them, but this time everything was different.

This time it was final.

Coming home Friday from the doctor's office, I'd known immediately I wasn't fit to be around my men. I'd needed the chance to wrap my mind around a number of things before facing anyone again, including the fact Stephanie was truly no longer a part of my life and that I'd lost my last chance to have a connection with her once Dr. Hamilton had pronounced Morelli as the biological father.

_Morelli._

What the fuck had that fool thought he could accomplish by confronting me before I'd left the doctor's office—spitting out all that bullshit about him having been an idiot and accepting responsibility for his role in what happened between the three of us. Well, he'd been right about one thing—he _was_ an idiot. I'd wanted to snap his neck in half when he'd said he and Stephanie felt badly about my pain. _Arrogant asshole! _Did he really think I believed any of his patronizing bullshit?

_Bang._

"Either you open the goddamned door, or I'm breaking it down!" Tank's voice interrupted my thoughts once again. "Let's _go_, Manoso."

_Shit._

Throwing back the bedcovers, I scrounged around in the dark for a pair of fatigues. I didn't think either one of us wanted to have a conversation—no matter how brief I was about to make it—with me standing there buck naked. Finally managing to get them on, I made my way down the hallway and into the living area where the fire stairwell was located next to the elevator.

"It'd better be a goddamned emergency, Tank, otherwise your ass is going to fry," I seethed, throwing the door open to reveal my best friend standing there with his hand poised to pound again.

Ignoring my threat, he moved past me into the apartment, no doubt noticing the pulled blinds and nearly empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table.

"Celebrating?" he asked, jerking his head toward the bottle.

"Yeah, it was a real party," I returned tightly. "What do you want?"

Much like myself, Tank wasn't one to mince words. "Don't you think it's time we had a little talk about what's been eating at you for the past five weeks?" Not even waiting for my reply, he moved over to take a seat in the leather chair next to the sofa.

"No."

"Well, at least you're admitting something's been eating at you," he shrugged, reaching for the empty bottle. "You know, I wouldn't have minded sharing this with you."

"It was a private party," I said grimly, "and it's still going on. And it's still private, so why don't you head on home, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"I know about the baby, Carlos," he announced out of left field.

_Fuck! _Wasn't I even going to be allowed to grieve in private now? My mouth opened to plead ignorance or indifference or to blast my best friend for getting into my business, but instead I wondered sullenly, "She called you?"

He shook his head. "I called her. I've been busy all weekend moving Lula's stuff back into my place, so I've been out of the loop. Cal called me this morning to let me know you'd been offline since Friday afternoon. When I mentioned it in passing to Lula, she went all goofy on me, so I figured it had something to do with Stephanie."

"Did you hear it's not mine?"

"Yeah, and I'm not going to even dance around with bullshit here by asking how you feel about it. I know damn well how you feel about it. You wanted it to be yours."

I started to deny it, but stopped myself. _What was the point?_

"Well, I'm beginning to learn you can't always have what you want," I replied dismissively.

Moving over to open one of the blinds partially and look out over the city, I realized it must have been evening—Sunday evening. _How the hell had I let an entire weekend get away from me? _I let my breath out slowly, realizing my head hurt from too much alcohol, and my stomach was filled with acid from not having had anything to eat to counteract the liquor.

"Go home, Tank. There's nothing you can do for me right now."

"Stephanie said she and Morelli feel badly about—"

"I don't really need this right now," I cut him off, pointing toward the door. "Seriously—I'll talk with you tomorrow. I'm calling a seven o'clock meeting to discuss an opportunity we may have in—"

"When are you going to admit that you're completely torn up over the fact that she married him?"

"—Miami. I may need to head down there for a couple of days and thought I might look up—"

"Can you at least admit you were in love with her?"

"—Julie while I'm there. See if she wants to grab dinner or something. That is if Rachel will—"

"She's having twins, Carlos."

"—let me see her. They may have something going on I'm not aware about—" I stopped short as what he'd said finally hit me.

"What?" I asked bewilderedly, staring at Tank like he'd just told me he was secretly a woman.

"Stephanie is having twins. Evidently the doctor told her after you'd left." He looked at me in sympathy. Well fuck that—I didn't want _anyone's _sympathy!

_But my God—twins? _Turning away from Tank, I studied the landscape more intently. Obviously they were both Morelli's—the son of a bitch. My stomach twisted, and for a brief moment, I thought I was going to be sick. But well-fought self-control won the battle—again—and I held it back with effort.

"Well, good for them," I responded, trying my best to sound sincere, but failing miserably. _How had this all happened? _How the hell had I allowed myself to be so completely sucked in by a woman that I'd find myself emotionally destroyed as a result of her decision to choose another man? Worse yet, how had I allowed myself to even think I could handle being a father in the midst of the life I led?

I didn't have room in my world for a wife and baby. My reality was one filled with constant danger, never-ending uncertainty and unbelievably high expectations put there by those who hired me to do their dirty work and, worse yet, by myself. Even with Stephanie I'd held her at arms length, knowing she'd never be completely safe in my world, but wanting her nonetheless.

_And God, I'd wanted her—with a mindless and endless need. I STILL wanted her._

"I'm sorry," Tank offered quietly. "I'm sorry you think you have to deny yourself happiness over past choices you've made."

I held up my hand to stop him. I didn't need more fucking words right now. What I needed to was go back to sleep and forget about the constant anger and hurt and resentment that churned in my gut like a goddamned Ferris wheel. "I'll be fine." Turning toward him, I moved steadily to the leather sofa and took a seat. "You're right; the paternity test was a curve ball that threw me off track for a few days. I needed some time to get my head on straight about a few things, but I'll be fine by tomorrow morning."

"Right," Tank gave me a pointed look and said dryly, "Because you're doing so well already."

Had any of my other men been around, I never would have allowed him to talk to me this way, but it _was _just the two of us, and maybe I did need my butt kicked just a little bit. "I'll be fine by tomorrow," I repeated determinedly. What choice did I have?

"You know, it might do you some good to actually admit you're in love with her."

Leaning my head against the top of the sofa, I sighed wearily. "Yeah? What good would it do me exactly?" My eyes were closed, and I was already thinking about escaping back to my bed.

"I don't know. Maybe if you said the words you could come to terms with it and find a way to move on," Tank offered a bit hesitantly. "I know it's not the same, but when I finally acknowledged my love for Lula after she was trapped in that basement for two days, it was like a fog lifted from my heart, and I could see everything more clearly."

_Who knew my best friend was a fucking poet._

I'd never understand what exactly Tank saw in Lula, but who was I to question true love? Obviously, I hadn't found it. "You're right; it isn't the same, and I'm not into playing games right now."

"Admit that you love her."

"Leave it alone, Tank," my voice was getting tighter by the minute.

"Say it!"

_Jesus, would he ever shut up? _Taking a deep breath, I said it—mostly just to hear him stop nagging. "Okay—I'm in love with Stephanie Plum." Pausing for the briefest of seconds, I added sarcastically, "Nope—not feeling any differently. Got any other ideas?"

"How about if you say it again using the right name?"

_Shit. _There went my stomach again. "What's the point of this—?"

"Say it, Carlos. I dare you."

"Jesus, are we in kindergarten now? You're daring me?"

"Yep. Say it."

Cursing under my breath, I said through gritted teeth, "I'm in love with Stephanie Mo—morelli." There. I'd said it with only a minimum of choking.

"What is it exactly that you hate about Morelli anyway?" Tank questioned curiously, staring at me with blatantly assessing eyes. "I spent quite a bit of time with him on the Kennard case you know. He's smart as hell, has a wicked sense of humor, and, God knows, he's insanely in love with Stephanie."

Opening my eyes, I gave him a look that would have made any one of my other men ready to piss in his pants. "I thought this was supposed to be helping me. Hearing about St. Morelli isn't helping, Tank."

"But it's the whole point," he argued, shifting forward in his seat. "I think you're totally hung up on the past. I'll agree with you one hundred percent that Morelli has made some dumbass moves when it comes to Stephanie. But the guy's finally got his shit together."

He stood and paced back and forth for a few minutes, clearly wanting to get something off his chest, but fearful of doing it. After a minute of watching him go back and forth like a duck in an arcade game at the fair, I'd had enough.

"Whatever's up your ass, would you just say it, so that you can go home, and I can get some sleep?"

Stopping to glare at me, he pointed a beefy finger at me. "Alright, I will. I've held back and not said much to you about their wedding, because I figured what the hell's the point of kicking my best friend when he's down, but the fact is I _was _there, and I _saw _with my very own eyes how in love those two are. And it's not just him, Carlos—she is too."

"You think I don't know that?" I exploded, leaping from the couch, surprised at the depth of my own anger. "I'm not stupid. How many fucking times did I watch her go back to him after one of their umpteen million little 'breaks'!"

"It wouldn't have made a difference if you'd made a move first or not," Tank continued relentlessly. "Even if you'd gotten her, you wouldn't have kept her. They would have found a way back to each other eventually. Some love is like that. I've never experienced it that way myself, but it's pretty fucking amazing to witness. And that's what they have, Ranger. You could never have competed with it."

My hand was clenched at my side ready to fly. Oh, how tempting it was to take out my frustration on the messenger—even if it was Tank.

"I don't believe that!" I denied hotly, though my gut knew it was true. Wasn't that what had kept me up for the past five weeks since Stephanie had found out Morelli may have been killed in that explosion at the dry cleaners—the knowledge that when push came to shove, she would _always _put him first?

Tank moved closer to me. "Yes, you do, Carlos. You're just not ready to accept it. But what I want to know is are you grieving the loss of Stephanie or the fact that you lost period?"

My eyes flashed. He'd gone to far. "Get the fuck out of my apartment," I rasped. "You have no right to talk to me this way. Best friend or not, I'm still your fucking boss!"

"Tomorrow you'll be my boss," he acknowledged with a nod. "Tonight you're just my friend." He pushed me back down as he moved past to sit beside me on the sofa. Picking up a business card on the coffee table in front of him, he examined it closely and asked, "What's this?"

I saw what he'd found and silently cursed. "It's a piece of propaganda from the doctor's office."

"Dr. Cheryl Sullivan, Ph.D. Psychology, Family Therapist," he read aloud. "A shrink?"

"Family counselor," I corrected. "Stephanie's doctor works in tandem with this gal when it comes to paternity cases. She offered her services, and I politely declined." Actually, I'd practically run from the room after receiving the news about the test, but he didn't need to know that.

"Maybe it would be helpful to talk with a neutral person," Tank suggested in an even tone. "She might have some suggestions on how to get past your feelings for another man's wife."

"Leave it be," I said in a voice that left no room for argument. "I'll be ready for that meeting at seven o'clock. I'd appreciate it if you'd notify the others."

He gave me a long, hard look—filled with compassion and frustration. "She asked me to call tonight to tell her how you're doing."

Was it possible for your heart to actually hurt? God knows mine felt like it was being squeezed out of my chest at the moment.

"Tell her how I'm doing is no longer her concern," I said bitterly.

Tank shook his head. "That's not going to fly with her, and you know it. She still wants to be your friend, Ranger."

Grunting with disgust, I surprised myself by revealing, "Morelli tried to tell me today that he's okay with my remaining friends with her—" I couldn't help but sneer, "as long as I don't touch her."

"Sounds pretty generous to me, considering all that's happened."

"Yeah, that's Morelli. He's fucking magnanimous if nothing else," I responded bitterly.

"You going to try?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. I'm not sure how I can after everything that's happened. To have to stand by and watch her have not one but two kids that could have been mine is a little too much salt in the wound for my taste. Besides I have business to take care of. I'm planning on taking that trip to Miami as soon as I can make arrangements."

"You'll regret it."

"Regret what?" _Would he just leave already?_ God, my head hurt simply from trying to keep up with this conversation, which showed me just how off my game I truly was.

"Stephanie brings something to your life, Carlos—something that's been missing for far too long. While I think she's happy with her marriage and Morelli, I do think you provide her with something that's equally as valuable. I think your friendship could be an important and powerful addition to her life."

"Fuck, now you're sounding like Morelli again."

"Did you ever stop to think maybe it's because we're both right? If you could set your hurt and anger aside long enough, I think you'll see she's already given you an amazing gift."

"What's that?" I asked, not really caring. But I figured if I allowed him to spit out whatever it was he felt he needed to say, perhaps he'd finally get the hell out of my place.

"She's shown that your heart is open to allowing a woman into your life—perhaps even a child. Not hers, obviously, but perhaps someone else when the time is right."

Never.

I'd never make the same mistake again of allowing a woman that much access to me. It was time to put an end to this little pep talk before I _was _physically ill. I opened my mouth to tell him I was done when he beat me to the punch.

"I'm out of here," he said, standing up and slapping my shoulder in a brotherly way. "Now that I know you're still alive and ornery as ever, I feel safe in leaving. I'll see you in the morning."

"Right." Did he really think I was 'all better' now that he'd said his piece? _Whatever! _As long as I could go back to bed, I didn't even care what he thought. Unfortunately, that's pretty much how I felt about everything in my life right about now.

I no longer cared.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"Do you think we should have invited your sisters and their families too?" I asked nervously, as we hustled up the walkway to my parent's house.

"Hell no. I'm not even sure if they know you're pregnant yet or not. I suppose I should call them at some point, although my mother's probably said something by now. Whatever—I say we make this short and sweet and get the heck out of dodge," Joe replied. "In fact, it would've been a hell of a lot faster and easier to have simply stopped off at my mom's house after seeing your parents."

"No argument here, but once my mom heard we wanted to stop by to tell her something about the baby, she insisted upon calling Angie and your grandmother over for dessert too."

I could see Joe's eyes rolling in the glow of my parent's porch light. Pulling the collar of my coat up, he leaned down and kissed me. "Ready to face the inquisition, Cupcake?"

"Am I ever?"

"Right." He took a deep breath. "Okay, here goes nothing."

Without waiting to knock, he opened the front door and we walked in to find everyone already seated in the living room. Less than ten seconds there, and I could see that my mother was in full crisis mode. After all—Angela Morelli, queen of Burg housekeeping, was in _her _home. I could only imagine what all she'd had my poor father doing after my phone call late that afternoon.

"Hello everyone," I greeted, smiling up at Joe as he took my jacket and hung it on the coat tree in the entryway.

"There you are!" my mother fretted, coming toward us with open arms and a slightly wild-eyed look. "Angela and Bella have been here for almost twenty minutes already. We did say seven o'clock, didn't we?" _Translation—where the hell have you been?_

"Sorry," I murmured with what I hoped passed for a sufficiently guilty look. I handed my mother off to Joe, who would hopefully charm her into a better mood, and made my way into the living room. "Hi. Thanks for coming. Sorry we're a little late," I greeted.

"Hello, Stephanie," Angie returned the greeting stiffly. She obviously hadn't forgotten our conversation from Thursday afternoon—nor had I.

"So what's the big news?" Grandma Mazur asked with typical bluntness. "I gave up Bingo over at St. Mary's tonight, because your mother said you were coming to tell us something about the baby."

"Better that you didn't go to Bingo," Grandma Bella offered. She looked uncomfortable sitting on one of the straight-back chairs from the dining room table. "You would have lost your entire social security check."

Grandma Mazur went bug-eyed. "How the heck did you know I was going to use—?"

"Whatever this is about couldn't it have waited until tomorrow night?" my father interrupted from his favorite chair. "The Jets are playing the Giants on Sunday night football right now, you know."

Joe's eyes immediately lit up, and I gave him a slight nudge.

"Shit, I forgot about that game," he muttered to me with a frown. "Your dad's right. Let's get a move on here."

My mother came in carrying a platter filled with individual plates of pineapple upside down cake and coffee. "I can't imagine what you'd need to tell us about the baby that couldn't have just been said over the phone or the next time you saw us."

I cleared my throat. "Well, we saw the doctor on Friday, and—"

"Friday! And you're just _now _getting around to telling us whatever is so important?" she asked in shock. "Why—"

"Why don't you let the girl talk, Helen," my father broke in yet again. "Then perhaps we could enjoy our dessert—and they could all go, so I can watch my game." They glared at one another, but my mother obediently set about passing dessert out to everyone.

Mrs. Morelli shot my father a disapproving glance, and then addressed Joe, "Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"Stephanie is trying to tell you, Ma." I noticed he wasn't quite looking his mother in the eye. More than likely he was remembering the conversation he and I'd had Thursday night about how his mother had tried to kill his father with a butcher knife.

Clearly I needed to stop having so many conversations with people.

Accepting a plate from my mother, I tried again, "Okay, so we went to see the doctor on Friday, and—"

My mother suddenly gasped. "Omigod—there's something wrong with the baby, isn't there!"

"Oh Stephanie—is that true?" Mrs. Morelli echoed in concern.

"Can't be. I would have seen it," Bella shook her head.

"Probably those ineffective swimmers of Joe's caused whatever the problem is," Grandma Mazur tossed out before shoveling a mouthful of cake into her mouth.

Joe glared at my grandmother and said through gritted teeth. "Actually, it's just the opposite. We're—"

"Can we hurry it up here already?" my father asked, waving his fork in a circle to keep the conversation moving.

"I don't know why the hell we bother half the time," Joe muttered to me as he slumped into the couch and attacked his own cake.

"It's probably the anemia," my mother guessed. "I told you, Angie. We should be preparing meals for these two. Stephanie probably hasn't had a decent thing to eat since she was here on Halloween."

"That's not true," Angie immediately defended. "I made her an excellent spinach and vegetable lasagna on Thursday.

"It's times like this that I'm reminded again of why I chose the right man," I mused, settling back beside Joe. The cake on my plate was calling my name now that the nausea was finally getting under control.

"I tell you it's liver she should be eating," Bella insisted, pointing her finger at both mothers.

"She's right," Grandma Mazur agreed. "Much as I hate to admit it."

"Yeah, why's that?" Joe turned to ask me. We were completely ignoring the chatter around us; since no one seemed to be aware of our presence any longer.

I shrugged. "Who else has a family that's as crazy as mine? It's nice to know I'm going through life with someone who can relate."

Joe snorted. "Had enough yet?"

"Only about ten minutes ago when we walked in the door."

"Want to go home?"

"Jets and Giants, Morelli. What do you think?"

"I suppose I could take Tuesdays," Mrs. Morelli was saying. "But only if you can do Thursdays."

"Fine," my mother replied. She was now frantically scribbling on her calendar.

"Yeah, so Steph and I found out we're having twins," Joe announced matter-of-factly, still methodically making his way through his cake.

"Darn it, I can't do it this Thursday though," my mother fretted. "I promised Val I'd take her girls for the day, because they don't have school. What about—"

"The girl should be doing her own cooking!" Bella cried, slapping her hand on her thigh. "What kind of housewife—?"

"What's wrong with take-out?" Grandma Mazur piped up. "Those kids have been living on it for the past three years already, haven't they?"

Suddenly the room just stopped. All talking, all motion—perhaps even all breathing—came to a complete standstill. Slowly everyone turned to look at Joe and then at my belly.

"Jesus Christ, did you just say what I think you did?" my father practically shouted, completely forgetting about the game.

"Surprise," I said weakly, giving a little wave with my fingers.

Grandma Mazur was the first to recover. "Guess I was wrong about the sperm again, eh Joe," she observed in a subdued voice. Who could blame her? I think we were all still in shock.

"Twins?" Mrs. Morelli repeated dazedly. "Dear Lord!" She was probably realizing the same thing I was—the fact that I wasn't qualified to take care of one child let alone two.

"Oh Stephanie," my mother breathed, a small smile beginning to spread into a full-fledged grin on her face. "Oh my baby!"

Within mere moments, there was a flutter of activity around us, as everyone wanted to get closer for a hug and to touch my stomach—everyone that is except for Bella. She sat on her chair with a deep frown on her face.

Even my father had climbed out of his chair to give me a hug. "Two pumpkins for my Pumpkin, huh?"

I nodded teary-eyed and then confessed in his ear, "I'm scared, Daddy."

Patting my back awkwardly, he replied in a low voice, meant only for me. "You're going to be a terrific mother, Stephanie. You mark my words—you and Joe will both be outstanding parents."

Praise from my father was rare, which made it even more special when given. "Thanks," I blushed before being whisked into another hug by my mother.

They all finally settled back into their seats, except for Bella who'd never gotten _out _of her seat in the first place. _What the heck was wrong with her anyway? _We spent the next fifteen minutes relaying all the details about the health risks I was facing and the fact that the pregnancy would more than likely not go full term. By the time I was finished telling everything, it was closing in on eight o'clock, and I could barely restrain my yawns any longer.

"I'd better get Steph home," Joe declared, noticing my growing fatigue. "I have a big day tomorrow as well, so I'd like to make it an early night too."

_Right. _After he finished watching the football game—I wasn't stupid!

Mrs. Morelli cornered her son and said in an undertone. "You'll be at the courthouse by nine thirty, right? Tony's hearing starts at ten."

Joe nodded. "I know, but don't get your hopes up, Ma. He's not going to show."

"He has to be there," she insisted stubbornly. "He can't be foolish enough to risk his family over something he didn't do."

I could tell Joe didn't want to get into the state of his brothers' lives at that moment, so I put my hand on his shoulder. "I'm fading fast, Joe."

He shot me a grateful look. "Right. I'll see you in the morning, Ma."

Angela pursed her lips and nodded reluctantly. Meanwhile, Joe had walked over to give his grandmother a hug. She hadn't moved a muscle nor said a word since our announcement of the twins.

"Goodnight, Grandma," he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Eyeing her closely, he continued, "Everything okay?"

"How did I miss it?" she frowned to herself.

"Miss what?"

"The twins? How did I miss the signs?"

Joe let his head drop forward. I wasn't sure if it was to cover a laugh or a sigh of frustration.

"Why not let it go, Grandma, and just be happy with the fact that you're going to have two more great grandchildren to love."

She grunted, clearly still upset with herself, but patted Joe's cheek nonetheless. "You're a good boy, Joseph."

Another round of hugs, an armload of leftovers to take home and we were finally out the door and back into the Avalanche headed for home.

"And another good time was had by all," Joe announced facetiously while adjusting the heater futilely. We'd be home before the heating element even had a chance to engage.

I didn't respond. I was too busy thinking about Bella.

He reached over the console to take my hand. "What's up? I can see the gears turning in that beautiful head of yours.

"How _did_ Bella miss all the signs," I wondered aloud. "She's been right on target up until now."

"No, she's been friggin' _lucky_ up until now," Joe corrected lightly. "I keep telling you, Cupcake. There is no such thing as the eye, and her visions are nothing more than common sense wrapped up in Italian mumbo jumbo."

Hmmmm…I was going to have to ponder that one some more, as I'd recently convinced myself the old woman was a mystic.

"Want to throw on our sweats and watch the game on the couch?" he asked hopefully. As an added enticement, he added, "Maybe you could even have another piece of cake."

I leaned over as closely as I could to his ear and responded, "I'd rather watch it in our bed—naked. Cake is optional."

Even in the darkness of the car's interior, I could see Joe's eyes gleam in consideration. "You do realize if you're naked, there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to keep my attention on the game."

"Think of it as a challenge," I whispered, running my index finger over the outer shell of his ear.

"Damn it, Steph," he said tensely. I'd _definitely _gotten his attention. The car picked up speed in response to my suggestion.

Two minutes later we pulled into the driveway, and Joe had us out the doors and halfway up the walkway before I could catch my breath. His hands were already beneath my jacket, pulling me closer.

"Get the keys," he directed in an impatient, slightly hoarse voice. Groaning as his hands found their way beneath my sweater, he added, "God, how do you to this to me every time?"

I was smiling and fumbling with the house keys when Joe's body froze against mine. Two seconds later he'd whipped around and pushed me well behind him.

"Who the fuck's there?" he demanded. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, as he stared at the large bushes near the front door.

"Joe—?"

He waved me into silence. "I'm not fucking around here. I've got a gun, and I'll use it." _What was he saying? _He didn't have his gun!

Moments later a man crawled out from among the bushes, his arms raised as if in surrender. From the glow of the porch light, Joe and I both did a double take as we saw whom it was standing there.

Paul.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own any of JE's characters.

So this is a rather lengthy chapter filled with a lot of information about what's been happening with the Morelli brothers. I've worked hard to try and explain the back story clearly, but it may still be a little confusing. If so, I'll hopefully clear things up for you as we go along. LOL!

Thank you to the new readers who have joined the story, and a special thank you to all of those who review to whom I can't send personal responses. You are all so great!

And finally, a huge thanks to Julie, my Beta reader, for a ton of help in making sure everything was accurate. She is just so stinking good!

* * *

Chapter Two

**Joe's POV**

Stephanie was the first to recover.

"Paul?" she asked uncertainly, trying to peek her head around my body, which was still shielding her.

She sounded equally as stunned as I was, seeing as I'd about had a heart attack when Paul crawled out of those bushes. I hadn't seen nor heard from him in fourteen days—not since dropping off Eddie and Tony at the airport in Barbados following Tony's arrest for soliciting a hooker. God, and what a clusterfuck that had been!

"Hey, Steph," Paul acknowledged my wife sheepishly. "Sorry if I frightened you just now. I didn't want anyone to notice me waiting out here." He shuffled his feet a bit. "So—uh—I heard you're pregnant. Congrats. You too, little brother."

"Thanks," she replied weakly, still reeling from his presence.

Whereas Tony was loud and obnoxious and I was arrogant and cocky, Paul had always been the more subdued of the Morelli boys. A little more than ten years older than myself, he still had the hardened body and looks associated with being a Morelli male, unlike Tony who'd gone rather soft in the past year from too much drinking. Right now Paul's looks weren't all that great either, however, as he obviously hadn't seen a bar of soap in several days. His dark hair was shaggy and curling on the ends like mine, but the strands were oily and more than in need of a cut.

Still uncomfortable, he looked at me almost beseechingly. "I need to talk to you."

In an instant the shock was gone, and in its place a slow burn began to kindle in my gut. "Yeah? That's funny. Because I've spent a good portion of my time trying to track you and Tony down this past week—both in person and on the phone—and neither of you seemed too interested in talking."

Paul glanced behind him nervously. "Come on, Joe—don't be an asshole about this. I don't have a lot of time—"

"Where's Tony?"

"Can we just go inside?"

"No. Where's Tony?"

He ran his tongue over his lips, still looking over his shoulder about every five seconds. "I can't stay out here too long. If they find me—"

I jumped all over that. "Who? If _who_ finds you?"

"Right now Meachum and the rest of the guys," Paul admitted, swiping his sleeve over his forehead. It was all of forty-five degrees outside, and yet he was sweating like a pig. "But by tomorrow morning it'll be the cops too."

Jason Meachum was one of the goons that'd been arrested with Tony at the Meth House a little over a week ago. He, Punk Malone, Eric Gambino and Buster Herrick were all a bunch of drug users whom Paul had associated with back in high school. They'd taken their 'hobby' to a much grander scale as adults by making and selling drugs. I'd thought Paul had parted ways with those losers after graduation, but according to my boss, Brett Rogers, he was considered a major player in the drug operation. In fact, the police were now attempting to use Tony's preliminary hearing as bait to lure him in for questioning.

I took an intimidating step toward him. "What the fuck are you involved with here, Paul? Did you and Tony kill Louie Nagel?"

His eyes shot wide open. "What? Hell no! How can you even ask me a question like that? I'm your brother, for Christ's sake! You know I wouldn't kill anyone, and Tony sure as hell wouldn't either!"

"I _thought _I knew _you_, seeing as we're supposed to be brothers, but I don't know anything anymore," I returned coldly. "And I trust even less. What—"

"Joe," Stephanie spoke calmly from behind me, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Mrs. Fortunato practically has her entire body hanging out of her dining room window trying to hear. Don't you think we should go inside?"

_Shit! _She was right. What was I thinking having a confrontation like this outside for all of Slater Street to hear? Word would be all over the Burg by morning that Joe Morelli had practically attacked his brother in front of his own house the night before. Wouldn't Rogers love that! The trouble was I didn't want either of my brothers anywhere near Stephanie—especially now with her pregnancy. And yet, I knew she'd think I was being overly protective if I even mentioned the idea of her going upstairs and away from Paul.

Leaning toward him, I put on my best cop face and said for his ears only. "Do _not _touch her. Got it?"

Not even waiting for a response, I took the key from Stephanie and quickly unlocked the door. Bob was immediately at our side to greet us, dancing in anticipation of going out for his nightly run.

"I'll hook him up out back," Stephanie offered with an odd look on her face as she grabbed the furry monster by his collar and headed for the side door.

She appeared anxious to leave, and I soon realized why. Now that we were inside it was becoming increasingly apparent Paul reeked of sweat and nerves. Poor Stephanie was probably ready to hurl up the dessert she'd just eaten at her parent's house.

"Where are you two idiots staying?" I went back on the offensive as soon as she'd left. "Wherever it is must not have a shower, because, dude, you smell rank."

Paul looked down at himself in embarrassment, and for a moment, I did feel like the asshole he'd accused me of being minutes earlier. Jesus, this was my brother standing here—not a hardened criminal. He deserved better treatment from me.

"I can't tell you," he mumbled, staring at the ground. "Tony says—"

"Well Tony isn't here, is he?" I challenged in frustration. "And where did you say _he _was exactly?"

Paul grimaced. "I know you're pissed, Joe, but—"

"You haven't a fucking clue how furious I am with _both _of you—especially Tony. Did our brilliant brother tell you about how he practically assaulted Stephanie in our very own goddamned kitchen the other morning?"

"He told me he came to try and get the suitcase and that Steph was here unexpectedly. But he told me didn't mean to hurt or even scare her. She misinterpreted—"

"How the hell do you misinterpret having a bruise on your arm from being manhandled? Better yet, how do you misinterpret passing out from lack of oxygen due to having your air supply cut off from a hand being kept over your mouth?"

Paul closed his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry, Joe—honest. None of this was meant to happen. If only you hadn't given the suitcase to the cops, I could—"

"Are you fucking nuts? I _am _a goddamned cop!"

"I know! I know! I just meant you shouldn't have gotten involved. It's such a mess, and the last thing I want is to cause you and Stephanie any trouble."

"Well, it's too late now! We've already had a dead body in Steph's old apartment, our SUV broken into—and our house was almost hit as well. Plus, my own brother assaulted her! So either clue me in completely to what's going on or get the hell out of my house."

Paul stood there opening and closing his mouth like a fish gasping for air on shore. "I—"

"Let him take a shower, Joe," Stephanie suggested from the entry to the kitchen, taking slow breaths through her mouth to avoid smelling Paul. She'd obviously returned from out back and had overheard my attack. "Give him something to eat. Then talk."

I'm not certain if the suggestion was for her benefit or Paul's, but either way I had to admit it was good advice—and so typically Stephanie. How was it she could possibly think she wouldn't make a good mother? Her instincts at reading people and situations were unlike anyone else I'd ever known. For about the millionth time since we'd said, "I do" two weeks ago, I thanked God she'd finally become my wife—soon to be the mother of my children_, _although the latter sent a tiny zing of both fear and excitement up my spine at the thought of being a father—twice over!

Jerking my head toward the stairs, I said, "Come on."

"I'll see what I can put together to eat," Steph offered helpfully. She had no idea how much I appreciated her support.

I gave Paul a slight push. "Towels are in the linen closet at the end of the hallway. I'll be up in a minute to get you something to wear while we wash your clothes."

Paul's eyes shifted back and forth between Stephanie and me. "Thanks," he said simply but with obvious gratitude. I was thinking maybe he ought to hold back on his appreciation. I wasn't planning on being nice much longer.

As soon as he disappeared upstairs, I walked over and wrapped my arms around Steph. "Thanks," I said simply.

"For what?"

"For having a clear head when I so obviously don't."

"Who could blame you? I was just as shocked as you were to see him scramble out of those bushes. Where do you suppose Tony is?"

Letting out a deep breath, I shrugged. "I can't even begin to imagine. I guess we'll have to see what Paul's willing to tell us."

"We?"

"You're not planning on leaving are you?"

She looked surprised. "Well, no, but I thought maybe you'd want to talk to him by yourself." It was more than clear she'd expected me to send her packing upstairs.

I couldn't help but run my fingers down the side of her face. It took all the self-restraint I had not to be touching her all the damn time—her lips, her skin, her hair—she was a continuous intoxication to me. "I'm counting on you to use those incredible instincts of yours to pick up on what I miss. Like I said, my head isn't exactly thinking clearly right now."

A huge grin crossed her face at my compliment, and I mentally kicked myself for the all the times I'd probably made her feel inept out of fear for her safety.

"Let me go warm up those leftovers my mom sent back with us," she offered, but not before giving me a hug and a soft kiss next to my ear.

Twenty minutes later, Paul was seated at our kitchen table inhaling a plate of warmed over pork roast and mashed potatoes. He looked better wearing an old pair of sweats and a t-shirt of mine and smelled a hell of a lot better too after his shower. Stephanie placed bottles of beer out for both Paul and me before slipping into the chair next to mine. While I sincerely appreciated her efforts, I hoped she wasn't under the impression I'd expected her to do all this. The last thing I needed was her morphing into the image of her mother.

Placing my forearms on the table, I leaned forward—all business. "Okay, here's the deal. I need you to be completely honest with me. If you leave out _anything _and I find out about it later, I'm done. You understand? You and Tony can both rot in prison if that's the case."

"But—"

"No buts. I'm not shitting around here, Paul. It's all or nothing."

He stared down at his plate for the longest time. When he looked up at me it was with the most remorseful look I'd ever seen.

"It's complicated."

"Jesus Christ!" I fairly exploded. "I just finish telling you what I expect, and the best you've got is 'it's complicated'!"

Stephanie's hand was on my thigh beneath the table before I'd barely finished my sentence, warning me silently to hold my tongue. She'd done the same thing the other night at dinner with Rogers when I'd started to lose control. When had I resorted to needing her to keep my anger in check like this all the time? I felt like a boiling pot sitting over an open fire constantly waiting to blow my lid. Clearly the stress of the past five weeks was coming to a head. I was so far off my game it wasn't even funny.

Letting out another cleansing breath, I tried again in a less threatening tone. "So it's complicated."

Paul breathed a sigh of relief at my change in tone. "Right," he confirmed, looking at both Steph and me. "I'm going against Tony now, Joe. I'm going to tell you the truth."

So Tony had purposefully wanted me kept in the dark—again. _Big fat surprise there! _My gut burned in response. It took every ounce of patience I had to reply simply, "Take your time."

He nodded, as if gathering his thoughts about him. Finally he pushed his plate aside and began, "About seven months ago—" he paused momentarily, thinking back, "Yeah, I guess it was sometime in March. Anyway, me and Tony went to see the Devils play a Saturday afternoon game against the Blackhawks over at the Prudential Center."

Prudential Center—Newark—okay there was my first link to Louie Nagel and his drug operation over there.

"Sounds fun," I observed casually, forcing my body to relax against the chair. I purposefully took a long pull on my beer in an effort to ease Paul as well. Slowly but surely discipline, training and the fact that Steph was sitting beside me were all helping me to focus like a detective and not as a brother. "Wish I could have been there."

Paul snorted disgustedly. "You and me both. Maybe if you had I wouldn't have made the stupid ass mistake I did after the game."

I could tell by the way Steph was squirming in her chair she too was itching to drag information out of him. But this was Paul—slow and unhurried—the way he'd gone about everything his entire life. Now that I'd resolved myself to the agony of waiting for him, I found it easier to sit back and let him take his time.

"We decided to grab some dinner after the game," he started up again. "The damn Blackhawks killed the Devils, and we were looking for some fun to offset our crappy mood after the loss. Tony knew of this really great barbecue place, so we headed over there to have some ribs and beer."

Stephanie glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, and I gave her a barely perceptible nod. Yes, it was more than likely the same hole in the wall we'd gone to on our date to see the Mets play in September. Tony had been the one to introduce me to that barbecue joint several years ago.

"So you're sitting there eating ribs, drinking some beers, and then what?" I encouraged, still trying to convey the impression we were just two brothers shooting the shit.

"It was the waitress," Paul said quietly. "Jessie Stampler. She was a sweet thing, and Tony and I just kept up the chatter with her every time she'd come to the table—you know—just harmless flirting."

_What in the hell did this have to do with two major drug operations in Trenton and Newark? _

Paul took a sip of beer. "Tony could see she was kind of in to me, so he kept pushing for me to make a move."

"Good old, Tony," I couldn't resist quipping sarcastically. "Always willing to lead someone else down the road of infidelity with him."

His eyes flashed, as I knew they would. Paul was nothing if not loyal to Tony.

"Well, I made the move," he retorted. "Maybe I'm not proud of it, but it happened, alright? People make mistakes. We're not all like you, Joe," he added bitterly.

Stephanie had her head down, probably kicking herself over Ranger again. God, I wished we could put that guilt to bed for the last time. I'd finally gotten over my hurt and anger over what had transpired between the two of them the past couple of years. If only I could convince her of the fact I was over it—better yet—convince _her _to get over it.

Slipping my hand over hers, I gave it a gentle squeeze. "We all make mistakes," I noted, as much for her as Paul. "And I'm not perfect either—believe me."

Paul frowned. "Try telling that to Ma sometime and see how far it gets you."

Much as I wanted to correct him, he was right. My mother and grandmother had some pretty thick rose-colored glasses when it came to me, although that was no easy burden to carry either.

"Go on," I motioned with my hand.

"So I made a move. Jessie and I started seeing each other pretty regularly for about a month. I was making the drive back and forth to Newark a few times a week, because she didn't have a way to get to Trenton."

"She doesn't drive?" Steph asked in surprise.

Paul looked embarrassed. "Let me just tell the story, okay? Anyway I was working one day at the refinery—must have been about late April, I guess, when I got paged to the break room. I was thinking it was one of my supervisors wanting to talk to me, but when I got there it was this dude I'd never seen before in my life. But right away I knew he was a cop."

"A cop," I repeated bemusedly. As many years as I'd been a cop, Paul knew about as much of the TPD force as I did. I couldn't believe he wouldn't have known the officer. "Uniform?"

"Plainclothes," he corrected.

"Who was it?"

Paul was the one starting to fidget in his chair now. "Name's Brian Stampler. He's with the Newark Police Department."

"Stampler! What'd that son of a bitch want with you?" I already knew the reason before I'd asked the question.

Stephanie caught on quickly. "Stampler? But didn't you just say that was the name of the waitress—"

"Yeah," he blushed. "Her WAY older brother. He told me you two go back a bit, Joe."

Something wasn't right here. I could feel it already. "I don't get it. Why should Stampler care if you're dating his sister—unless—did he find out you're married? Did he come to threaten you?"

Paul was sweating now. "Partly. Yes, he found out I was married, but only because he began to investigate me after he'd discovered I'd been with Jessie. Um—it turns out she's only seventeen."

"_Seventeen!"_ Steph and I yelled in unison. _So much for trying to appear casual and relaxed_. He'd just blown us both clear out of the water.

"Are you fucking out of your mind?" I added in total disbelief. Somehow Stephanie and I _knew without _even having to look at one another that Jessie was the same girl who'd waited on us when we'd been at that barbecue joint.

"I didn't know!" Paul defended hotly. "Swear to God, Joe—I didn't know!"

"You didn't _want _to know," I corrected angrily, my stomach churning. "Christ, Paulie, if this girl is who I think she is, she waited on Steph and me last month. That girl clearly wasn't of age."

"_Don't_ lecture me! You weren't there. You don't know!"

"Explain to me how you could have made such an asinine mistake!"

Paul ran a hand through his hair. "We'd had a few beers, you see, and she _did _come on to me."

"Still—you didn't think to ask her age?"

"No, _Detective _Morelli, I didn't," Paul returned sarcastically. "I didn't demand to see her goddamned driver's license either. I was drunk, and it just happened."

"Maybe the first night, but what about all the other nights?"

"Do you want to hear my story, or do you want to give me a sermon!"

The thought of my forty-five year old brother being intimate with a seventeen-year-old girl made me physically ill, but it made sense now why Tony had egged him on. Hell, hadn't he started seeing Angelina when she was only seventeen too? God, what kind of messed up family did I belong to anyway?

Stephanie must have read my mind again, for she shook her head slightly and let me know with her eyes how much she loved me—that I _was _different than my brothers. What was it she'd said tonight at her parent's house—that she was grateful for having someone to go through life with that understood the craziness of her family? Well that went both ways. I couldn't imagine going through life without her by my side.

Trying to shift gears, I forced myself to set my repulsion and judgment aside. "So Brian Stampler came to see you. I assume to tell you he was pressing charges for soliciting a minor, right?"

"That and statutory rape," Paul confirmed in a subdued voice.

Stephanie turned toward me and asked curiously. "How do you know Stampler?"

"He was in the academy with me," I explained. "We weren't exactly the best of buds. He was a bit too legalistic for my taste. Everything was either black or white with him, and he held onto a grudge like a lovesick teenager hangs onto a love note."

"Would he have a vendetta against you?" she wondered.

"Highly doubtful—we simply avoided one another, because we were so different. But oddly enough, there was one more person in the academy that he disliked even more than me. In fact, he despised him."

"Who's that?"

"Jake Dorsey," Paul answered before I'd even had a chance to open my mouth.

Her eyes widened at hearing the name of the former TPD detective and co-conspirator of Luke Kennard's. "Rreeaally," she drawled. "That's awfully coincidental. Why didn't they get along?"

I studied Paul, remembering the information we'd found in the suitcase linking Stryker and Dorsey to the Trenton operation. Was it possible my own brother was involved with one of the very men who'd tried to kill both Stephanie and me?

Putting that thought on the back burner, I answered Steph's question. "I've told you before Dorsey was insanely competitive and always looking to get a leg up on all the rookies. While I just ignored him because I _was _stronger and faster, Stampler and he were forever going at it and constantly trying to outdo one another in every area of training."

"Why didn't Stampler stay with the TPD?" she asked curiously.

"Truthfully, I don't remember," I responded, trying to think back. "I know we all graduated from the academy together, and we all went into uniform at the same time. But as I recall, Stampler lasted less than a year before he transferred to Newark."

"Hunh," she mused and then tried to steer the conversation back on track. "So Stampler's waiting for you in the break room. Then what?"

"At first he was hell bent on having me arrested—that is after he'd decided not to kill me himself," Paul continued, "Evidently his parents had Jessie _very_ unexpectedly late in life, and then both were killed a few years afterward in a single-engine plane crash. Jessie went to live with her brother, and he's been raising her alone ever since. He's insanely protective of her."

"That would make sense why he transferred to Newark then," Stephanie observed. "He probably figured it would be easier to just move into his parent's old house rather than move Jessie to Trenton."

"He said he'd had a tough time raising her on his own. Over the years, she grew wilder and wilder," Paul admitted.

I thought back to how eager and flirty the girl had been with me the night Steph and I'd been there, and it made sense. "What stopped him from arresting you?"

Paul closed his mouth.

After several agonizing minutes where the only thing making a sound in the room was RJ running on his hamster wheel, Stephanie said, "Paul—don't you think this business of trying to protect Joe has gone on long enough? I know your family has some built-in family code when it comes to him, but he's a grown man—and a cop. He may very well be your only hope of getting out of whatever this mess you and Tony are involved in."

She'd done it again—taken my deepest frustration and somehow made it palatable to talk about with my family. There was no doubt in my mind I was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to have her as my wife. I thought of Manoso and the pain he was enduring from Steph's choice to be with me. I couldn't even imagine what I'd have done if the situation had been reversed. Living without Stephanie was simply inconceivable.

I was brought out of my thoughts abruptly when Paul plunged his hands into his hair. "God, I don't know what to do, Joe. This is serious shit. If I tell you, who knows how the hell it could affect you and Stephanie. And now with the baby coming—"

For the briefest of moments, I felt the need to smile. "Bab—_ies," _I noted proudly. "We're having twins."

"Oh shit—I mean congratulations," he closed his eyes in agony. "But shit—that makes it even worse. I _can't _involve you now!"

Feeling another twinge in my gut, I shared a glance with Steph. "Why don't you let us decide what we can or can't handle?" I suggested mildly.

He let out a loud exhale. "It turns out Stampler did some investigation into my life after Jessie confessed to him about our relationship. He learned everything he could about me—all about my family, where I lived, worked, went to school, etc. He found about my association with Meachum, Malone, Gambino and Herrick back in the day. Turns out he'd been put in charge of investigating Louie Nagel's drug operation over in Newark. In his probing, he discovered some information suggesting that Nagel was running drugs with the Trenton boys and that Stryker might be involved as well."

"How in the hell did he figure that out?" I wondered.

"I don't know, but he offered me a deal. If I was willing to go undercover for him in the Trenton drug house and provide him with as much information as possible to link it to Nagel—and possibly Stryker—he wouldn't press charges against me."

The twinge in my gut became a full-blown pain. Holding up my hand, I said, "Are you saying what I think you are? You're a goddamned Narc?"

Paul clenched his jaw. "Yes, I agreed to become an informant for the Newark Police Department." Seeing the look on my face, he continued agitatedly, "What the fuck choice did I have, Joe? I've got a wife and four kids counting on me to provide for them. It's tough to do that from prison!"

That pissed me off. "If you were willing to sacrifice their happiness by cheating on them with this girl and any of the other women you've been with, why the hell would you feel responsible for their financial well being?"

He looked at me as though I was nuts. "Are you fucking kidding me? One has nothing to do with the other! I have a responsibility to them—especially my kids. So I like to have a little fun once in a while. My life is stressful, Joey. I work damn hard to provide for my family. I deserve the right to do something for me once in awhile."

"Man, I swear I'm talking with _Tony_ Morelli right now," I jabbed bitterly. "Do you even have your own thoughts anymore, or are you strictly his puppet?"

"Fuck you!"

"Seems to me if you weren't fucking everyone else you wouldn't be having these problems!" I'm sure I sounded like an asshole, but I was dumbfounded over how shallow both of my brothers really were.

"Okay, let's get back on track here," Stephanie suggested tiredly, motioning with both her hands for us to cool down. A closer look at her face revealed fatigue around her eyes.

"Hey, are you doing okay?" I asked in concern, laying my hand over her stomach. "You can go up to bed if you want. No sense in making yourself sick over this."

"I'm fine, Morelli," she stressed with a cocked eyebrow, letting me know to drop any protectiveness. Addressing Paul, she continued, "So let me get this straight. Stampler bribed you into becoming an informant for him by asking you to penetrate Meachum's operation here in Trenton."

"Yes."

"Can he do that?" she asked, frowning. Once again she was proving how smart she was.

"It's dicey," I agreed. "As you know, Newark is in Essex County and Trenton is in Mercer. Technically local governmental agencies aren't supposed to cross jurisdictions on cases without the express consent of the opposing agency."

"You mean Trenton takes care of Trenton, and Newark takes care of Newark."

"Correct, unless they agree to work together. Was that the case here?" I turned my attention back to Paul.

"No—only I didn't know that until it was too late."

"Why—what happened?"

"It doesn't matter," he said glumly. "What's done is done."

"I thought we were moving past this kind of bullshit. _What happened?" _I demanded.

He let out another loud exhale, dropping his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Stephanie wasn't the only one who was tired. Paul's face was lined with stress and fatigue. _What in the hell had he been thinking? _Being a Narc for a police department was a _serious _and incredibly dangerous position—one you didn't do without a lot of preparation and forethought. Why hadn't he confided in me first?

"I felt like I had no choice, so I told Stampler I'd do it. I started hanging out at The Pokey, which is where Meachum and the boys like to play. It took a few weeks, but eventually I managed to convince them I was looking for a little extra cash and wanted in on their operation in some capacity. My exact instructions from Stampler were to do _anything _it took to get them to trust me, so I did whatever they told me to do."

"Including?" I fished.

"I ran drugs, sold drugs, made drugs, took drugs—you name it."

Stephanie's eyes were huge by now. "Is that legal? I mean are you under some kind of protection from the police when you do that stuff?"

I glowered. "Again—it's chancy. It depends on the investigation; upon what clearance they've received from a judge; upon how open they've been with the other jurisdiction—but yes, often times informants are allowed to break the law in order to help the police _catch_ those who are breaking the law."

"That's a pretty twisted game," Steph noted cynically.

"It's no different than some of the tactics bounty hunters use to catch FTA's," I replied equally as cynically. "Unfortunately, law enforcement isn't exactly a squeaky clean profession."

Paul continued. "It took several weeks, but eventually they began to trust me with more and more information. Every chance I had I wrote notes, took pictures and anything else I could do to uncover and record evidence for Stampler. Myra—who's Meachum's on-again, off-again lover—was a huge help in getting them to trust me."

"Were _you_ having an affair with Myra Flowers?" Steph asked. "Or was Tony?"

Paul made a sour face. "No, it was me. Tony's got another girl right now."

"Right—Lil Conroy," Steph turned up one corner of her mouth in disgust.

His expression grew even more resentful. "Jesus, Steph, is there anything about this deal you _don't _know already?"

"I try to stay current," she retorted dryly, and I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. Like me, she was such a smart ass.

"Back to Myrna," I encouraged. "Tell us about your relationship with her.

"As I said, Stampler made it clear I should use any and all means to get the guys to trust me and work my way further into the organization. Myra was one way to do that, and so I used her interest in me to my advantage."

"Didn't Meachum want to kill you for screwing around with _his_ lover?"

"You don't know how these guys think," Paul looked almost embarrassed again. "They share _everything_—including their women. Myra's been with Meachum for years and has probably slept with every one of those other guys on multiple occasions. For Meachum, it was almost a rite of passage to have me hook up with her."

"What's her role in the organization?"

"Same as mine—we did whatever Meachum told us to do. He's the ring leader of the group."

"Were you serious about her?"

"Serious enough so she'd trust me and help _them _to trust me."

"Back to Stampler," I pushed. "Did he see the evidence you'd gathered at any point in time?" I asked, praying to God he had.

"Some," Paul nodded, "But he kept nothing. He told me to put everything together and then submit one report to him all at once after he made a bust on either Nagel or the Trenton boys."

I gave an inward snort. Stampler was no doubt covering his ass by not holding on to any evidence that would incriminate his willingness to have crossed jurisdictions—and more than likely without approval. "Your name doesn't appear anywhere in the evidence we uncovered in the suitcase."

"I know," Paul agreed sullenly. "Stampler told me to be sure not to leave any evidence linking my name. He said it was to protect me in case Meachum or the guys found out what I was up to."

"Joe, do you think Stampler intended all along to frame Paul?"

Instead of answering, I motioned toward Paul. "What do _you _think?"

"I don't know what to think anymore, but let me finish telling the story before you speculate on anything."

I held up my hand again. "I want to know one thing before you go any further. Did you let Tony in on all of this from the beginning?"

"Hell no! I didn't tell anyone—not even Adrienne," Paul exclaimed, his eyes widening slightly. "Stampler swore me to secrecy."

"How did Tony become aware of what was going on then?"

"And Adrienne and Angelina too," Steph jumped in. "I _know _those two are both involved somehow."

"I was getting deeper and deeper into the organization and collecting more incriminating evidence for Stampler. Eventually I worked it out to be the liaison between both operations, which gave me more opportunity to explore the connection between the Trenton boys and Nagel over in Newark. During my snooping, I found information that clearly showed Stryker had been supplying product to both Meachum and Nagel."

Stephanie immediately tensed beside me; despite the fact we'd known this already. My own breathing became a little shallower as well. Just hearing the name Stryker reminded us both of the hell we'd gone through thanks to Jake Dorsey and Luke Kennard.

"I saw the information in the suitcase linking Stryker and Dorsey to the Trenton operation." My gaze met his in a steely-eyed challenge. "Did you have personal contact with Dorsey, Paul?"

So help me, if he said yes, I'd kick his ass—right then and there.

"No! No—I swear to God, Joe! Meachum made all the contacts with Dorsey."

"But you knew about it and still didn't say anything to me." Oh, my pot was so ready to blow.

"I didn't _know _he was linked to you and your suspension. Nobody did at first—remember?"

"But clearly this had been going on for a few months. Just seeing the name of a cop in the midst of a drug operation should have been enough for you to talk to me."

"You're fucking crazy!" He gestured with his hand. "That's the very reason I _didn't _say anything to you. The deeper I got into the situation the more dangerous it got. I've been scared shitless for six months now over the safety of Adrienne and the kids—and the rest of my family too."

"If you had this level of involvement, how in the heck did you find time to work at the refinery, be a husband, be a parent—along with everything else in your life? This sounds like a full-time job," Stephanie declared, sounding slightly in awe of the magnitude of what Paul had done.

Paul sank even deeper into his chair. "It's been hell," he stated simply. "I'm so goddamned tired from trying to keep up all the pretenses of my real life in addition to all the work I've been doing for the Trenton boys—plus having to keep up an affair with Myra in order to cement my 'in' with the group. You have no idea, Steph."

Evidently I wasn't feeling the same empathy as Stephanie, because all I could think of was keeping both of my brothers as far away from my wife as possible. This shit was beyond serious—and dangerous."

"When did you tell, Tony?" I asked, trying to get back to my question from a minute ago.

"And Adrienne and Angelina," Steph pestered again. I nearly laughed when I saw Paul's eyes roll. Unfortunately, it wasn't a laughing matter.

"The Wednesday night before your wedding I stumbled across a communication indicating a huge shipment from Stryker was going to be delivered to Meachum's house."

_Shit. _"Go on."

"I knew this was big, and I was getting really nervous about the whole thing. By this time I knew about what Dorsey and Kennard and the whole Stryker deal had done to you both personally and professionally. I wanted nothing to do with anything that had caused you so much trouble."

He paused to collect his thoughts again and now the kitchen was eerily silent. RJ must have finally decided to call it a night.

"The deeper I got into all of this, the more scared I got that something was going to happen to me and no one but Stampler would have been aware of what I'd been doing. I didn't want to go to my grave being known as a drug dealer. How could my kids live with that?" He lowered his head, trying to regain control of his emotions.

The asshole in me—Jeez, he was a troublemaker tonight—had quite a few comebacks ready for this particular statement, but through sheer willpower I was able to force myself to remain silent.

"I went to Stampler," Paul continued, only mildly more in control. "I showed him I had enough information to bring down both organizations in Newark and Trenton. He told me to hang on to all the documentation in a safe place and that he and his team would be there to bust the whole Trenton operation during the Stryker drop. I was to contact him once I knew when that was to take place."

"And Tony?" I reminded him yet again about our brother's involvement in this plot.

"I told you I was scared something might happen to me, so when we were in Barbados for the wedding, I told Tony about what had been going on."

It was another hit to my gut. They'd known the whole time we'd been together that weekend and had said _nothing _to me.

"And so what—his reaction to your confession was to get obliterated for the entire weekend, seduce a hooker and get arrested? Shit, Paulie—that was damn good thinking. Why bother with your other brother—_the goddamned cop_—when you can have an ally like Tony."

"It was best for you to remain ignorant—"

I stood and shoved the chair so hard it clattered to the floor. Stephanie looked at me in both surprise and sympathy. "Why in the fuck do you two always think it's best to leave me in the dark? Do you realize how goddamned insulting this is to me—_especially _about something involving the police?"

Paul stood too. "Jesus, Joey—what the fuck did you want me to do? We were there for your goddamned wedding!" he reminded me as if I were a two year old. "We _all _knew how long you'd been wanting to marry Stephanie. What kind of piece of shit brother would I have been had I shared all of this with you the night before you were supposed to tie the knot. Come on!"

The anger spewed from me like venom. "One who wouldn't have had to put his older brother, who's supposedly your best friend, into the position of possibly going to jail for you. One who would've had the full support and authority from his younger brother—_the cop_. One who would've had a better chance of protecting his wife and kids. One who perhaps wouldn't be running for his life right now. Because that's what this has come down to, isn't it, Paul? You're running scared. When did Meachum figure out you were a Narc?"

"Let me tell it my own way!" Paul snapped back. "Quit sniping at me and let me finish!"

"Both of you need to sit down—now," Stephanie ordered in a voice that sounded remarkably like my mother's, which was pretty damn frightening.

Reluctantly and with a dirty look at Paul, I righted my chair and sat down opposite from him once he'd seated himself again.

"Go back to Barbados, Paul. Tell us about Tony," Steph encouraged quietly.

"I told Tony everything and showed him all my evidence—"

"You had it with you in Barbados?" My eyebrows were clear up in to my hairline.

"You think I was going to leave it behind?" he glared at me in disbelief.

"The drugs too?"

"No—not the drugs, you idiot. This is fucking serious, Joe, so quit screwing around."

"This is all so goddamned ridiculous it's getting hard not to joke! At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if you _had _decided to try and take twenty grand in drugs with you on an airplane to the Caribbean. Not that you wouldn't have been caught immediately, but still!"

He continued to look at me fiercely, but went on, "There was no way I was leaving the evidence behind. I kept it all in the suitcase and just carried it with me everywhere I went. Anyway, after I told Tony, he demanded we let the girls in on what was happening too, seeing as the danger was mounting. He especially wanted Adrienne to take precautions with the kids. The four of us are best friends and would do anything for one another."

_How charming. _The whole set-up made me want to puke.

"When we got back from the wedding, Tony was worried about me walking around with all that evidence and arranged for him and Angelina to take the suitcase to their house for safekeeping."

"So Angelina _did _know what was in the suitcase when she gave it to me," Stephanie cut it. She was obviously ticked about having been duped by her new sister-in-law.

Paul ignored her outburst. "Tony told me to lay low while he thought about what to do. The Thursday night of your honeymoon—the night before the bust—Tony was at The Pokey with—" he stopped, clearly uncomfortable.

"Lil Conroy," Steph supplied.

Paul fairly growled. "Yes, Tony was at The Pokey with Lil. They've been seeing one another for about three months now."

"Does Angelina know?" Steph asked.

Paul smirked. "Angelina _always _knows. And she always forgives him, because she's nuts about Tony—and he is with her too. Adrienne and I feel the same way about one another."

"How can you even say that with a straight face?" I wondered, truly baffled.

"Tony and I just need a little more action too—that's all."

I was completely blown away by what I was hearing. How could they treat their wives that way? How could they—

He interrupted my thoughts by continuing, "Lil is a secretary with a temp agency. Turns out her assignment for that particular week was to do extra filing over at the TPD headquarters—specifically in your chief's office area."

My chin lifted a notch. "Rogers?"

Paul shrugged. "She came across some memos detailing a sting that was about to take place at Meachum's house by the _Trenton _Police Department on Friday night. She was just shooting the shit with Tony and had no idea how important that little tidbit of gossip was to him and me personally."

I thought back to the dinner Steph and I'd had with Rogers last Thursday night when he'd told me the TBD had been aware of Meachum's drug operation for six months and about Paul's involvement for about six weeks. How had they known that? And was the raid they conducted of their own device or had someone tipped them off about Newark planning to do a bust of their own? Was Rogers trying to protect his turf, or was the situation merely coincidental? God, I _hated _being left out of the loop like this!

"I'd mentioned to Tony earlier that Meachum had called a meeting for Friday night for the big drop from Stryker. I'd also called Stampler to let him know it was coming. I was outside talking with Myrna before the meeting, fully expecting Stampler and the Neward Police Department to arrive at any time, when Tony came barreling up the driveway instead. Evidently he'd been trying to get a hold of me since the previous night. He quickly told me the TPD was on its way, and that I should get the hell out of there and try to get a hold of Stampler, and see what I should do."

"So Tony told you to leave?" I clarified.

"Yeah. He was planning on getting the hell out of there too, but the police showed up no sooner than I'd had the chance to take off in my car. He was arrested with Meachum and the rest of them. He was bonded out on Saturday, and Sunday is when you came home from the honeymoon."

"What happened with Stampler?"

I called to demand a meet with him. We met up at a truck stop halfway between the two cities where I proceeded to update him and to ask why the hell he hadn't shown up for the bust—"

"Let me guess—he told you his hands got tied, and there was nothing he could for you," I finished matter-of-factly.

Paul looked stunned. "That's right! But how did you—?"

"I'm a _cop_, Paulie. Why do I have to keep reminding you of that simple fact? You think I don't know how this bullshit game is played? Newark was encroaching on Trenton's turf during this whole deal—in hopes of finding a way to bring down its own smaller problem in Nagel's operation. The question is whether it's the Newark Police Department as a whole or just Stampler that was doing the encroaching. Regardless—once he realized his bust had been hijacked by Trenton there was nothing more Stampler could do."

"I don't understand," Stephanie shook her head.

"You can get into a lot of trouble over something like this," I detailed for her. "Judges don't take too kindly to governmental agencies crossing jurisdictions. Basically Stampler plans to hang Paul out to dry to cover his own ass."

"Exactly," Paul agreed resentfully. "He told me there was nothing he could do for me; that he was sorry for the _inconvenience_, but as a parting gift he wasn't going to press charges against me for the affair with Jessie."

"Meanwhile, you now have no record of the fact you were working for him—or do you?" I asked hopefully. "Did you keep a separate set of records, indicating your association with Stampler?"

He shook his dejectedly. "No."

_Fuck._

"Have you had contact with Meachum, Myra or any of the others since they were bonded out after the arrest?"

Paul swore under his breath. "Not with Myra or the others, but when Meachum got out of jail on Saturday he called me on my cell phone, telling me he was going to kill me and my family. By my skipping out before the bust, he assumed I was an informant for _Trenton—_not Newark. He assumed Tony was in on it too because of him being at the house that night."

"Where did you go after your meet-up with Stampler?"

"I spent Friday through Monday at some flop hotel outside of town. I was in contact with Tony almost constantly after he got bonded out on Saturday. He kept telling me to stay put and leave everything to him."

_Double Fuck._ That was like the blind leading the blind as far as I was concerned.

"Meachum and Gambino went to my house looking for me and tried to intimidate Adrienne into telling where I was, which she didn't know because I still hadn't contacted her. Tony said it would be better for her not to know where I was." He paused, looking miserable. "I should have told her to leave town sooner, but I wasn't thinking clearly and Tony told me to stay put and—"

"Did Meachum hurt Adrienne?" Stephanie asked softly.

"Mostly knocked her around a bit, but it was in front of the kids. She got so scared she—" he stopped again, clearly struggling with guilt and self-condemnation.

"She told Meachum about the suitcase, didn't she?" I guessed.

He gave a hard nod and looked away, trying to regain his self-control. "Jesus, Joe—what have I done? I put my wife and kids in the position of almost being killed over a stupid fling with a seventeen year old girl!"

"You've almost gotten any _one _of us killed over your selfish, sophomoric—downright pathetic—behavior!" I bellowed. The lid on my pot hadn't just come off—it'd probably shot clear through the roof of my house by now. "And then to not even bother to _tell _any of us we're in danger?" My fist hit the top of the table. "You make me _sick_, Paul!"

Steph tried to allay the escalating tension, "So Meachum and his buddies went on the hunt for the suitcase."

"Yes, but it gets complicated—"

"More complicated?" Stephanie mocked lightly, shaking her head. "I'm already dizzy from trying to keep this all straight.

Paul rushed on as if she hadn't spoken. "Angelina kicked Tony out on Saturday after finding out about Lil and also to try and provide further protection for their kids. The idea was that Meachum would leave them alone if he knew Tony was gone."

"Yes, because apparently that worked so well for Adrienne," I pointed out snidely.

Again Paul kept speaking. No more slow and methodical for him—he was on a roll and determined to spit everything out at once.

"So Tony started calling Meachum and telling him where _he _was, in hopes the Trenton boys would go looking for him instead."

My blood ran cold. In a low voice practically shaking with fury, I nailed him. "Tony stayed at Ma's house Saturday night. Are you telling me he willingly put our own mother at risk with these drug-dealing maniacs? And he stayed with us on Sunday night—did he do the same with Steph and me?" The fist I'd used to bang the tabletop was now ready to beat the shit out of _both _brothers.

"We just needed to buy some time," Paul insisted, apparently oblivious to the fact I was ready to kick his ass. "Tony was insistent I stay away from everyone, because he knew they'd kill me. He was willing to take the risk they might kill him instead on my behalf—"

"The sacrificial lamb, huh?" I sneered, seething with unsuppressed rage. "Good old Tony willing to take on everyone else's problems but his own. Did either of you idiots stop to think those drug dealers could've killed any of the rest of us?"

He ignored me yet again. "We told Meachum that Tony was going to stay at Steph's place. That's who broke in there last Tuesday. They were looking for the suitcase. Same thing with your SUV, Joey—Tony told them you'd taken the suitcase on accident from Angelina and that you were carrying it around in your SUV. He was desperate to do anything to get them off the trail, until he and I could get the damn thing back from you. If only you hadn't turned it over to the police—I might have been able to have Stampler cut a deal with Trenton or something. Shit, I don't know!" He scrubbed his face viciously."

I was in complete cop mode now—screw family loyalty. Those two worthless dickheads had put my mother and pregnant wife in danger! "How does Nagel fit into this—who killed him?" I demanded, leaning across the table to grab his shirt.

Paul's entire body was shaking from nerves, stress—and perhaps the sudden knowledge I was about to shred him to pieces. "It's got to be Meachum. Hell, I don't know who else it _could_ be!"

"Does he know I've taken the suitcase to the police?"

He shook his head. "Tony and I haven't talked with him since Wednesday when he called to threaten our families again."

"That was the day someone tried to break into _our _house, remember?" Steph reminded me, and the grip I had on his shirt grew tighter.

Paul continued. "When Stephanie ran into Angelina and Adrienne at the deli that Noon, they were meeting to figure out where to go with the kids to be safe. We think they're out of Trenton now, but we're not sure. Neither of us has heard from them since Thursday morning."

He looked at me with crazed eyes. "I'm so fucking scared, Joey. I got nothing to prove my innocence with Trenton. I know someone's going to try and take Tony out if he goes to his preliminary hearing tomorrow; and I don't even fucking know where my wife and kids are. What if Meachum has them? What the hell do I do?"

"Where is Tony right now." I ignored _his _question for a change.

He immediately blanched. "I—I can't tell you."

I was on my feet, dragging Paul with me, in a hot second. "What the fuck do you mean you _can't_? You'd better tell me—_now. _You two have already screwed yourselves so badly there may be no hope for either of you. Where—is—Tony?" My fist was pulled back ready to fly into his face.

"I _can't _tell you," he repeated, shaking his head, struggling against me. "He made me swear I wouldn't reveal our hideout. It's for everyone's protection. He doesn't even know I'm here right now. I told him I was going out to try and scare up some more booze. I'm surprised he hasn't been trying to call me.

"_More _booze!" I exploded incredulously and shoved him away from me violently. "Do you mean to tell me you two are facing possible imprisonment—or worse yet death—and you're sitting around getting lit up? My God, I can't tell you how repulsed I am by the idea we share the same DNA!"

"It's stressful," Paul defended weakly. "You have no idea how—"

I flailed my arms in a stereotypical Italian rant. "Goddamn it, Paul—Tony had better show up at that hearing tomorrow. It may be the _only _chance we have of getting the TPD to cooperate—"

"But—but I thought you could maybe pull some strings. You know, tell your boss what happened and get him to drop all the charges—"

"Without any evidence? Have you fucking lost your mind! By not coming to me immediately, you've essentially tied my hands. Rogers isn't going to allow me anywhere near this case—especially if he finds out you've been to see me. I'll be lucky if he allows me to stay on the Nagel investigation."

"What do I do then?" Paul asked me, his normally tanned face stark white.

"I have no idea," I answered bluntly. "But there isn't a single option right now that looks too hopeful."

"Shit!" he dropped his head onto the table top with a loud thunk.

The asshole in me wanted to rear its ugly head again and tell him it wasn't my problem. Let his best friend Tony find a way to save them both. Pushing away from the table, I walked over to lean against the counter, my back to the room. I was at a total loss of what to do. My head told me to let them fend for themselves, but my heart—

My heart was filled with so many confusing emotions—anger over their stupid lifestyle choices; fear for their safety and that of the rest of my family and betrayal that once again they hadn't confided in me but had left me floundering in the dark. Yet underneath all of the bitterness laid the knowledge that in many ways I did owe both Tony _and _Paul for the hell they'd endured on my behalf as kids. They were still my blood—my brothers. What was it Rogers had said at dinner last Thursday? He'd wanted to know if my loyalty ran to blood or the badge.

_Which was it?_

After several long moments, I turned around slowly. "You need to go," I told Paul seriously.

Stephanie's eyes opened wide. "Joe—"

I held up my hand. "You need to get back to wherever the hell it is you and Tony are hiding and tell him if he trusts me as a cop at all, he needs to show up in court tomorrow morning, ten o'clock sharp. Tell him I'm not playing—it's critical he shows up in order for us to have _any _hope with Rogers."

Paul shook his head. "But—"

"You get back there and sober Tony's ass up right now. You hear me, Paul? He _has _to show up tomorrow. In the meantime, I need time to think."

"But Tony's going to be furious I went behind his back to see you—let alone the fact I told you the truth."

"You tell him you're done allowing him to be your savior. It's time to stand up and be your own man, Paul. You hear what I'm saying? This is _your _fight—not Tony's."

He stood uncertainly. "Meachum will kill me, Joe. I'm a dead man."

"You just make sure that Tony is at the courthouse by ten o'clock. Meachum, Gambino, Herrick, Malone and Myra Flowers all have hearings at around the same time. We'll see how many of them show as well."

"And then what?" Paul asked anxiously.

"I don't know," I confessed honestly.

Stephanie had slipped downstairs to get Paul's clothes from the laundry. He went into the half bath and quickly put them back on, and then gratefully accepted the bag of food she'd hastily assembled—bread, peanut butter and a bunch of snacks.

Paul leaned in and brushed Stephanie's cheek with a kiss, and my gut twisted again. _Get away from her_.

"Joe's a lucky man, Steph," he smiled wanly. He continued almost sheepishly, "Just so you know, I'm sorry about the wedding and how Tony and I sort of messed things up for you two. It was just so stressful and we needed to—"

"Why don't you quit while you're ahead," Stephanie suggested, her eyebrow arched again. "Tell Tony I'll see him tomorrow. I have a few things to say to him as well."

_Over my dead body. _

There was no way in hell I'd let Stephanie talk to Tony—at least not until I'd had a chance to let him know—both physically and verbally—how livid I was over the way he'd treated my wife the other day in our own home. In fact, Tony and I had a lot of long overdue business to discuss.

Paul threw the hood of his sweatshirt beneath his jacket up over his head and peered anxiously out into the dark night. Turning back briefly, he held out his fist. "Thanks, brother."

"Yeah—" I paused for a moment. "Brother."

We awkwardly bumped fists, and he was gone.

Stephanie closed the door, leaning her visibly fatigued body against it.

"That was almost unbelievable," she murmured. "Had you not known Brian Stampler, I would have sworn he'd made that whole story up. My God, is there _any _hope for them?"

I shook my head. "They're in such deep shit, I don't think a crane is going to be able to lift them out. Without any evidence proving he was a Narc, it's going to be a cakewalk for the TPD to go after him. With or without Tony, they'll find a way."

"Who do you think tipped off the Trenton police about the shipment from Stryker a week ago Friday? Do you think Rogers knew about Newark's encroachment into Trenton's territory?"

"The better question is whether it's Newark's encroachment or Stampler's? Did he have authorization or was this a solo pursuit?"

She pushed off the door and wrapped her arms around my waist. "I'm scared for everyone right now—Angelina, Adrienne and the kids, your mom—your brothers."

Tipping her chin up with my finger, I stared into those beautiful blue eyes of hers. "You missed the most important ones."

Her nose wrinkled.

"You and the babies," I whispered. "I can't allow any of this shit to harm you, Cupcake. You three mean more to me than anything else in the world. Promise me you'll be extremely careful until this thing is resolved one way or the other."

She kissed my nose. "Quit worrying, Morelli. We're fine." She set off for the stairs, calling over her shoulder. "Why don't you go get Bob from out back and let's go see who won—the Giants or the Jets."

As soon as she was up the stairs, I headed straight for the kitchen cupboard where I kept the Maalox. Stephanie thought I only used the stuff over her. Little did she know it was a constant necessity in my line of work—and now this? What the hell could I do for my brothers? Was there anything that _could _be done for them at this point in the game?

One thing was for certain—Tony simply _had _to show up for court tomorrow or there would more than likely be no hope.

_Shit._


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Heads up! I'm going to do my best to give you another chapter sometime this week, but I'm away from home, and it's more of a challenge for me to find private time to write. So if you don't see anything for several days, don't panic. I'll be back with the next chapter as soon as I can. Promise!

Thanks to everyone for the reviews, especially to those who have either newly joined the story or who I can't thank in person.

Special thanks to Julie for keeping me on track here and picking up on all the little details I miss. Whew! I'd be lost without you, friend!

* * *

Chapter Three

**Steph's POV**

9:40 a.m.

Glancing at the clock on the wall of the courtroom for what seemed like the millionth time since I'd arrived ten minutes earlier, I fought hard against the nausea swirling in my belly. Today I knew for certain the sick feeling I was experiencing had nothing to do with being pregnant and everything to do with anxiety. My mind was like an old record player going round and round. Would Tony show up for his preliminary hearing; would we be able to find a way to clear both him and Paul of this nasty business; would Joe be able to restrain himself from a physical confrontation when he saw his brother? That last one had me especially worried.

Tank had called shortly after Paul left the previous night to inform me he'd spoken with Ranger. From the sound of it, he'd spent a restless weekend locked up on his floor of Rangeman headquarters. I was at a complete loss as to how to try and salvage a relationship with my mentor and former lover—or even if I _should _try. There was a part of me who missed him very much, and yet there was also a very real part of me who almost relished the idea of putting the past behind me once and for all. It was all so confusing, and while Joe was supportive of me maintaining my friendship with Ranger, I was still struggling with residual guilt of all the deceitfulness I'd shown _Joe_ throughout our relationship. His wounds may be healed, but I wasn't as certain that mine were.

Joe himself had left our bed in the middle-of-the night for another one of his 'processing' vigils downstairs. I'd found him sound asleep on the couch around six o'clock, all six-feet of him scrunched into the most God-awful position imaginable. A hot shower and three cups of coffee had forced him awake, but still unusually quiet as he continued to weigh the ramifications of Paul's visit. I'd chosen not to push him, but instead had offered my support through lots of well-timed hugs and kisses before he'd left for work.

After he'd left, I'd called Mary Lou and Val about the fact we were having twins. No sense in having either of them getting ticked because they'd had to hear it through the Burg-line instead of my own lips. Mary Lou had been predictably over the top excited about the news, providing me with two huge screeches through the telephone—one for each of the babies. Val, on the other hand, had laughed her fool head off. I think she can hardly wait to see me looking like I'd swallowed not one but two gigantic watermelons.

"Stephanie, why isn't Anthony here yet?" Mrs. Morelli fretted next to me in the gallery seating area, breaking my thoughts. Her fingers were busy worrying the beads of her rosary. "And _where_ is Joseph?"

Turning toward her, I tried my best to sound hopeful. "I'm sure Tony will come, Angie. And Joe was going into the precinct first before coming over here. Right now he's probably dividing his time between consulting with Tony's attorney and checking in on the hearings for the other people who were arrested that night."

She bowed her head further over the beads. "Why is this happening? Why do those two boys insist upon bringing such continual shame upon me and their wives?" She quickly dashed away a wayward tear and went back to moving her lips in silent prayer.

"I wish I had an answer for you," I fumbled. I wasn't used to having to offer encouragement like this and especially not to my brand new mother-in-law. "Uh—so I take it you haven't talked with Joe yet this morning?"

"No," she shook her head absently, concentrating on her litany.

_Okay. _That meant she didn't know about Paul's visit to our house last night. I knew Joe had planned on telling Richard Samuelson, Tony's court-appointed attorney, about what we'd learned from Paul, but I wasn't about to be the one to break the news to his mother.

"Where's Grandma Bella?" I asked in an attempt to change the subject. "Has she had any visions about today?"

Mrs. Morelli paused and allowed a small smile to grace her face. She was actually a very attractive woman—and especially when she smiled. I could see a lot of Joe in her physical appearance as well as some of her mannerisms.

"_Bella _is home resting," she raised one of her eyebrows almost defiantly. "She hasn't quite recovered yet from the fact she missed knowing you two are having twins."

I wasn't sure if _I'd_ recovered from Bella having been mistaken either, having pretty much convinced myself the crazy old bat really did have 'the eye' until this little slip-up. I hadn't told Joe, because he was already convinced his grandmother was a crackpot, but I was also secretly frightened that maybe her inability to see two babies meant something was wrong with one of them. Would there only be one baby in the end?

Forcing myself to push that fear aside, I observed hesitantly, "I probably shouldn't say this, but you seem almost happy she missed it."

She laughed! Granted it was a short one—but Mrs. Morelli actually sort of chuckled there or something. I'd always thought of her as being rather serious—almost severe at times. Who knew she actually had a sense of humor?

"Stephanie, dear, do you really think after all these years I don't know how crazy _my _mother-in-law is?" she smiled. "Having to listen to her rants and visions and little 'eye hexes' all the time is not only irritating but exhausting as well. Be thankful I'm just a clean freak."

There it was again—an actual sarcastic joke!

_Hunh. _

This was downright fascinating to me. Not only did she _think_ this about Bella, but also the fact she was _telling _me about it was even more amazing. It was almost as if she were attempting to connect with me in some way. Go figure!

9:45 a.m.

Checking my watch, I wondered where Joe and Richard Samuelson were. The courtroom was beginning to fill rather quickly now, and the number of people in attendance surprised me. The District Attorney had arrived and was setting up shop on the other side of the room. Joe had told me his name was Parks Johnson, a third generation attorney from Trenton. He looked young, tall and more than eager to prosecute the hell out of Tony.

"Hey Ma," a soft voice to my right caused my head to turn. Mary and Cathy, Joe's sisters, had appeared at their mother's side, looking both uncomfortable and embarrassed.

Quite frankly, I was surprised to see them. I'd always been under the impression they didn't have as much interaction with the Morelli boys as they did with one another. Even Angelina had told me Cathy and Mary had their own lives and their own issues—thanks to their father—and neither had been too interested in engaging her or Adrienne in female bonding after joining the family. Cathy and Mary certainly couldn't deny their Morelli heritage however. They looked just like their brothers with dark, curling hair, beautiful brown eyes and that gorgeous Mediterranean complexion they all shared.

Cathy came over to sit next to me. She was the older of the two sisters and went by Cathy Lombardy now. With her husband Ron, a construction worker, they had five children. Cathy was the perfect Burg housewife—more than having successfully followed in her mother's footsteps.

On the other hand, Mary, who'd taken a seat next to her mother, had strayed from Burg tradition and married a non-Italian. According to Joe, Marcus Hembree was from England and had met Mary while visiting the United States on a student exchange back in high school. The two had kept up their friendship through the years via letters and phone calls and had married after college when Marcus immigrated here _and _joined the Catholic Church, the latter of which had been crucial to Mrs. Morelli accepting the marriage. They 'only' had two children, and Mary worked part-time as a secretary in a dental office, while Marcus worked as an accountant for one of the larger outfits in Trenton.

I hadn't spoken with either sister since the wedding, and I wasn't all that interested in starting now. Logically I'd known Joe's family was large since childhood, but somehow he'd always managed to shield me from them save for a few special occasions over the years. Now that we were married it was a whole new ballgame, and I wasn't sure I'd been given the right playbook for learning how to cope with navigating the minefields being thrown at me regarding his siblings.

Today was also the first time I'd seen the girls since learning about the horrible sexual abuse they'd survived at the hands of their monstrous father. While my heart broke for both of them, I still wasn't comfortable enough to go much deeper than small talk. My knee began to bounce nervously at the thought of having to make _any _kind of conversation at the moment. _Where the heck WAS Joe anyway?_

Cathy nudged me. "So I hear congratulations are in order. How are you feeling? When are we going to get together to celebrate the good news?"

"Celebrate?" I repeated, hoping I'd misheard her.

Cathy shared a glance with Mary over both Angela and me. "Yeah—Mary and I think it's long overdue for us to take you out to dinner or shopping or _something_ to celebrate marrying our baby brother and for giving him not one but _two _babies at once. It'd be good for us to get to know you better after all these years." She handed me a piece of paper with a phone number on it. "Here's my cell. Call me when you have a couple of dates in mind."

I must have looked ridiculous the way I was staring at her, but I couldn't help it. I was completely floored by all she'd said. Obviously Mrs. Morelli had filled her daughters in last night over the fact I was having twins. I couldn't help but feel as though their sudden notice of me wasn't so much a genuine interest, but more likely they'd been put up to it.

Mary leaned across her mother. "So do you think Tony will show up today, Steph?"

"I don't know," I replied honestly. Once again I chose not to say anything about Paul's visit the previous night and prayed they wouldn't ask me about their other brother. As far as I was concerned, it was on Joe to tell his family about these kinds of difficult things. And truthfully, I wasn't even sure what all the girls knew already. No, my job at this point was simply to smile, nod and try to remember whom the heck was who in this huge family. I think I'd finally mastered the adults, but the thought of having to do the same thing with all the nieces and nephews sent a friggin' chill down my spine.

9:50 a.m.

While Angela and Joe's sisters kept up a low chatter around me, I stole another fleeting look at the clock on the wall. My armpits were beginning to sweat. _Where the heck was Tony? _For that matter where were Joe and Richard Samuelson. Were they all waiting in another room for the hearing to begin?

The door to the courtroom opened, and in walked Vinnie. My jaw dropped slightly when I saw who was with him. His latest hire, Bruce Jackson AKA Bulldog, came swaggering in as well. They wasted no time in finding two seats near the back, waiting like vultures to see if Tony showed or not. When Vinnie's eyes scanned the room and locked with mine, he didn't hesitate to give me a knowing leer. Beside him, Bulldog simply stared straight ahead, ignoring everyone. The former member of the notorious motorcycle gang The Iron Pigs was once again dressed in the same crazy concoction as the day I'd met him at the bonds office—blue jeans, a denim vest and no shirt. _Shit! _I'd totally forgotten to tell Joe about having met Vinnie's new bounty hunter. In the midst of the paternity results on Friday, everything else I'd done that day had been pushed out of my mind.

"Where are Angelina and Adrienne?" Mary asked innocently, scanning the room. "I can't believe they wouldn't be here today—especially Angelina."

_Oh Jeez. _Answering that question would require me telling them about Paul's visit. It wasn't that I wanted to lie to these people. I'd learned my lesson about that, thank you very much, but I also didn't want to be the bearer of bad news regarding Paul's situation. Craning my neck again, I tried to appear casual as I looked for Joe, while inside I was starting to freak out.

"I'm sure we'll know everything soon," I answered noncommittally, still searching for my husband.

"Come to think of it, I haven't talked with either Angelina or Adrienne since the wedding," Cathy observed with narrowed eyes. "It _is _kind of strange I haven't run in to at least one of them during the past two weeks."

"It's reprehensible that Angelina isn't here," Mrs. Morelli fumed, taking a break from her bead pushing. Her anger reminded me that Angelina had said Joe's mother wasn't too fond of her. "I babysat their kids last Wednesday. I think she and Adrienne went to lunch or something."

_It was 'or something' all right. _They'd met to plot how the hell to get out of Trenton before some crazy drug dealer killed them and all their children!

The door to the courtroom opened again, and Acting Chief of Police Brett Rogers walked in with several of his top men. Upon noticing me, he gave me a brief nod before finding a seat behind Parks Johnson. My stomach started churning again. Had Joe talked with Rogers when he was at the precinct that morning? Clearly Rogers had known quite a bit more information than he'd let on at dinner the other night. I couldn't imagine Joe was too thrilled with the TPD right now—Rogers in particular. This was only one more instance of him having been left in the dark.

"So how's married life?" Cathy asked, still trying to initiate conversation between the two of us. "Is it all you'd thought it'd be?"

_No, I hadn't really expected to be faced with pregnancy, an issue of paternity and a nightmare with my husband's family all in the first two weeks. _

"No complaints," I responded weakly.

"Joe's a good guy," she went on cheerfully. "We all did a good job raising him."

Mary overheard and added, "What's the saying—it takes a village? Well, it took a more than a village to raise Joey into the decent man he is today."

"Joseph is my joy," Angie agreed proudly.

Both girls seemed to take her comment in stride. Meanwhile, I thought the whole conversation was rather creepy. The more I witnessed the expectation placed upon Joe to be the best of the Morelli's was downright sickening. It was a wonder he hadn't been even _more _of a rebel when he was younger.

9:55 a.m.

Thankfully they all stopped talking when the door opened yet _again_, and Joe walked into the courtroom. I watched as he and Rogers made eye contact for one long, heated moment before he made his way over to where we were seated in the gallery. Cathy immediately hopped up and, after giving her brother a brief hug, went over to sit on the other side of Mary. Joe greeted his mother and other sister, and then sat down next to me.

Ever mindful of his demeanor while on the job, he leaned in for only a brief kiss before saying to all of us simply, "He's not here."

Mrs. Morelli gasped. "Oh dear God! Are you certain?" she asked anxiously. Her eyes were already starting to tear up.

"I'm sorry, Ma."

"What does this mean regarding the bail bond and Ma's house?" Cathy demanded indignantly.

Just as she'd done three years ago when Joe had been arrested, Mrs. Morelli had once again used her home as collateral for the bond Vinnie had written to free Tony.

"It means we need to find Tony—fast," Joe answered. "Ma is liable for him not appearing, which means her house is at risk until Tony is back in custody. There will also be court fees and other penalties slapped on top of all this."

"That idiot!" Cathy swore softly, while Mary shook her head in disgust. "Why would he do this to Ma?"

Cathy wrapped her arm around their mother, and the three Morelli women went straight to work kibitzing over Tony's foolishness. Lowering my voice for Joe's ears only, I took the opportunity to remind him, "You _did _tell Paul ten o'clock sharp last night. Maybe he took you literally."

Joe gave a soft snort. "There was no misunderstanding. Tony knew what time he was supposed to be here. Samuelson made it very clear at their meeting last Monday."

"And he hasn't heard from Tony either?"

"Not since he walked out the door of my mother's house."

"Why do _you _think he didn't show?"

Joe looked away uncomfortably. "I think he's scared. I think he feels he needs to protect Paul, and I think he doesn't trust the system right now." His brown eyes sought mine. "I know he feels, Steph. I was once in this very same position three years ago. The only difference is I'm a cop, and I knew what the hell I was doing. Still, seeing my mother like this reminds me I once put her in the very same danger of losing her home."

The memory was clearly painful for him. I didn't quite know what to do, so in typical fashion I shifted the subject. "Did you tell Samuelson about our visitor last night?"

He nodded. "I'm sure he's going to ask to speak to the judge, although it won't do any good."

"And Rogers? Did you talk to him at the precinct this morning?"

Joe's jaw tightened. "No." Leaving it at that, he looked around the room and his scowl deepened. "It's not often Vinnie shows up for one of these shindigs. I wonder who the goon is with him?"

"That's Bulldog," I replied without bothering to turn around.

He snorted again—a little louder this time. "Cute." I could tell he thought I was making fun of the large tattoo on his hairy chest, or the fact that he looked like an actual bulldog.

"I'm serious. His name is Bruce Jackson. He's a bounty hunter from LA that used to ride with the Iron Pigs. Ever heard of them?"

Joe's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. That group doesn't have the best of reputations. How do you know all of this?"

"I had the _pleasure_ of meeting him Friday when I stopped off at the bonds office on my way to our appointment with Dr. Hamilton. He's my replacement."

"Are you shitting me, Steph?" Joe said under his breath.

"You wish! I asked Ranger if he knew him when we were waiting for you the doctor's office. He said he's heard of him, and that he's bad news. I guess he plays by his own rules."

"Great," he answered disgustedly. "Just what we need—some kind of vigilante going after Tony. Can't you convince Vinnie to send Lula or at least Ranger?"

"I'm not the person to ask Vinnie _anything _right now. He's pretty ticked at me for quitting. As for Ranger, my understanding is that he's not doing skip tracing any longer. And I don't think Lula's even in the running. I'm pretty sure Bulldog was brought in specifically to find your brother."

"Lovely," Joe muttered, keeping up his one word sarcasms.

"Any word on the other preliminary hearings?"

"So far every one of them has been a no-show. Myra Flowers is the only one with a hearing left, and I believe that's going on down the hallway right now. Do you know if Vinnie took any of their bonds?"

"I don't, but I can find out from Connie later."

Joe turned his head toward the door as it opened, and Richard Samuelson entered and made his way up the aisle to the defendant's table. Turning around, Samuelson found Joe and gave him a barely perceptible shake of the head. No Tony.

_Shit._

Joe surprised me by reaching for my hand.

10:00 a.m.

The door to the judge's chambers opened, and in walked Judge Royce Shepherd, a thirty-year veteran at the Mercer County Courthouse. He was an imposing man, tall in stature, with a full head of steel grey hair and sharp blue eyes. Immediately the court deputy stood and began the initial proceedings, including asking us to rise, an introduction of the judge and a reading of the charges, which were basically three counts of first-degree possession and attempt to distribute narcotics. The biggest hurdle would be the fact that Meachum's drug house was on the same street as one of the local elementary schools, which automatically guaranteed a stiffer sentence.

After everyone was seated again, Judge Shepherd slipped on a pair of reading glasses and reviewed the file in front of him for a few moments. He then lifted his head and addressed Richard Samuelson, "Mr. Samuelson, I would normally begin proceedings at this time, but it doesn't appear as though your client is here. When was the last time you had contact with Mr. Morelli, Counselor?"

Samuelson stood. "A week ago today, Your Honor."

"And was Mr. Morelli informed he was to appear in this courtroom no later than ten o'clock?"

"Yes sir. He was duly informed."

At the DA's table, Parks Johnson was having a hard time holding back a smile, apparently thinking this was going to be an easy day in the courtroom.

"Alright, the first thing we must do then is to issue a bench warrant for Mr. Morelli's immediate arrest."

"_Fuck!" _Joe hissed beneath his breath beside me.

I had to agree with the sentiment. Not showing up for a scheduled court date was a felony in and of itself. Tony was digging himself a hole out of which he might never reappear.

Judge Shepherd continued to examine the data in front of him. "Clearly there is more than enough evidence here to warrant a trial. Therefore, pending his arrest, I will remand Mr. Morelli over to the county jail until his trial."

Mrs. Morelli was weeping silently beside me now. Joe released my hand to reach over and take hers instead.

"Do you have anything else to add, Mr. Samuelson?" Judge Shepherd asked.

Samuelson cleared his throat. "Yes. Your Honor, some additional factors have been brought to my attention that may affect my client's case."

The judge's eyebrows rose. "And have those _factors_ been shared in discovery with the prosecution?"

"No sir. This information was only given to me this morning."

Parks Johnson's head was cocked now as he listened more intently.

"I'm not exactly certain what you expect me to do, Mr. Samuelson. You and I both know the proper protocol for criminal proceedings. You'll need to take this up with Mr. Johnson."

"Yes, Your Honor, but it is critical that you hear this information as soon as possible. It could have grave bearing on this case."

Judge Shepherd scowled. "Then you'll have to take it up with the DA's office. My role has been served here until the trial, which will be set as soon as both sides can agree upon a date. Gentlemen," he nodded his head, "court is adjourned until further notice." And the gavel was pounded.

Immediately DA Johnson was over at Samuelson's table, and the two began speaking in hushed tones. On the prosecution's side, Chief Rogers looked on with a concerned frown.

Our little group stood and stared dazedly at one another—all accept Joe. He just looked disgusted.

"What does this all mean?" Mrs. Morelli questioned bewilderedly, looking almost lost. "Joseph, _where _is Anthony—and Paul too for that matter? Will Anthony truly have to go to jail once they find him."

Joe's face was grim. "Regardless of what happens, yes, Tony will have to face some jail time for failing to appear. How much time he'll serve will be up to the judge."

She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I just don't understand—"

He sighed. "Listen, Ma, I know you have a lot of questions, and I only have a few answers for you, but I really can't get into any of it right now. You go on home, and when I can, I'll come over to the house, okay?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the District Attorney was now consulting with Brett Rogers.

"But—"

"Ma, please," Joe said somewhat impatiently. He'd obviously noticed the exchange as well. "I have a feeling I'm about to be called into a meeting. I need to go."

"Alright," she agreed faintly, reaching for her purse and rosary.

"How about we take you home, Ma?" Cathy offered. She and Mary distributed hugs, and then addressing me, she added, "Call me soon, Steph."

_Right. _Joe gave me a quizzical look as they walked away. "Call you about what?"

I shrugged, looking slightly ill. "They want to get to know me better."

He winced but wasn't able to say anything more, as Chief Rogers approached us both.

"Stephanie," he acknowledged me politely with a nod and a smile. That smile grew stiffer however as he addressed Joe. "Detective, I've just learned from the DA you had a visitor last evening and failed to inform me. Would you care to explain your reasoning for that oversight?"

"Not at this time and location, sir."

Rogers huffed loudly. "Fine. There'll be a meeting in my office in twenty minutes with both attorneys and the two of us. Don't be late."

"Don't worry—I'll be there," Joe responded coolly.

"Good to see you again, Stephanie," Rogers said graciously and then left the room with his little entourage.

"Oh shit—are you in trouble?" I asked, looking up at him in concern.

Grimacing, he put an arm around my shoulder. "Who the hell knows, but I _do _know Rogers is in trouble—at least from me. He has a lot of explaining to do about how exactly the TPD is involved in this mess."

"Try not to lose your temper," I advised, adjusting his tie with a smile. I could only imagine how tired he was of having to wear a shirt and tie after having been in court the past three business days.

He rolled his eyes. "Good advice. It's doubtful, but I'll try my best."

Is there anything I can do to help?" I wondered hopefully. This deal with not working was becoming a real pain in my ass. I wanted to be doing _something _to feel useful.

Joe noted my expression and pretty much read my mind. "I'm sorry about the 'no work' mandate from Dr. Hamilton, Steph. I promise once we get this stupid issue with my brothers worked out, I'll help you start investigating what we can do about getting you back to work as soon as the twins come."

Hearing him say 'the twins' made my heart skip a beat. It was still a shock to think there were _two _babies growing in my stomach—both of which would have to come out at some point. _Good God!_

He went on, "The biggest help right now would be finding out from Connie the scoop on who set the bond for Meachum and his buddies and also seeing what all she knows about this Bulldog character too."

"Sure. That's easy." Probably getting the scoop would necessitate having a long lunch someplace with Lula and Connie. _Okay, so maybe not working wasn't ALL-bad._

"Just _please _promise me you'll be careful, Steph, no matter what you do today, okay? Be aware of what's going on around you."

"I will. You too."

He dropped a kiss on my forehead. "Love you. I'll call you later," he promised before heading for the door.

Gathering up my things, I was still in the process of putting on my coat when Vinnie and Bulldog made a point of crossing my path.

"I knew your stupid ass brother-in-law was high-risk when I agreed to take the bail," Vinnie derided. "I've been kicking myself over that stupid choice for the past week. Well, now apprehending his fugitive butt is going to be extra sweet for me."

_Why go to Connie when I had the horse's ass—er—mouth right in front of me?_ "Did you write the bonds for the others who were arrested that night?"

He shook his head with a nasty grin. "I'm not telling you shit, Stephanie. "You want to know who wrote their bonds? You go find out. It'll give you something to do while you're playing housewife."

My eyes were nothing but slits as I took a step toward him. "Listen, Vinnie, I may be pregnant, but I still know how to kick your pathetic excuse for an ass. Although I'd be afraid to try simply because I'd be afraid of catching some rare disease from touching you."

His lip curled. "Oh yeah? Well—"

"What is your problem anyway?" I cut him off in a huff. "It wasn't like I planned on having a complicated pregnancy."

"Yeah, I heard through the 'vine you're knocked up with two Morelli brats now—God help the Burg!"

"I told you I was sorry about having to quit so suddenly, but there was nothing I could do. Why are you being such a jerk about this whole thing?"

Bulldog stepped in between us. "I suggest you get along now and give your brother-in-law fair warning I'm coming for him. Tell him I'm just like a dog with a bone when it comes to finding my skips. I never give up." He bared his teeth and gave a low growl.

My skin literally crawled as his words ran over me like fleas. "Nice seeing you too, Mr. Jackson," I rolled my eyes with as much bravado as I could muster. "I'll be sure to pass that word along. Excuse me, _gentlemen_," I choked the word out and quickly hustled out of the courtroom.

Oh, how I wished I could be the one to find my idiot brothers-in-law!

**Joe's POV**

I walked into Rogers' office area five minutes before our scheduled meeting trying to keep Stephanie's advice of maintaining my cool in the forefront of my mind. She wasn't going to be here to help monitor my self-control this time. Nope—I needed to suck it up and stop letting emotion rule my thinking. I was a goddamned police detective—and a good one too. Intelligence and instinct needed to be my guide from now on until this business with Tony and Paul was finished one way or the other.

Sherry Gort, Rogers' long-time secretary, who'd made the move up with him when he'd become acting chief, gave me a coy smile as soon as she noticed me.

"Hey Joe," she greeted with a little wink while discreetly trying to smooth down her long, blonde hair. "I haven't seen you in awhile. Where've you been hiding?"

Mega-flirt Sherry didn't miss a thing when it came to departmental gossip, so her question was really nothing more than a way to tease. Allowing myself a 'Steph roll', which was basically an inward eye roll, I casually placed my left hand down on her desk and responded, "I was out for a few weeks on vacation. Maybe you haven't heard that Stephanie and I were recently married."

I'll be damned if I still didn't feel like grinning every time I said those words.

_Her_ smile dimmed considerably. "Of course. I guess I do remember hearing about that around here somewhere. Uh—congratulations," she managed to strangle out the half-hearted sentiment. With a slight tilt to her head, she added, "He's waiting for you inside. You can go on in."

"Thanks," I smiled back. God, what a relief it was to finally be able to have a legitimate reason to brush off the more aggressive women at the precinct. Somehow saying, 'I have a girlfriend' had never seemed to be a very effective deterrent.

Giving a single knock on Rogers' door, I slipped inside. The man himself was standing behind his desk looking out the window with his hands behind his back.

Without turning his head, he said in a low voice. "That you, Morelli?"

"Yes sir."

"Are you walking through that door with an attitude, Detective? Or am I going to have your full cooperation at this meeting?"

"That depends. Are you going to keep shoveling shit at me or are we really going to get down to business?" _Ouch. _The words had slipped out before I could censor them—probably not the best way to start trying to maintain that self-control.

Rogers surprised me by barking out a short laugh. Turning around slowly, he said, "Damn it, Joe, you and I've never had a problem working together before. What's happened that's caused this rift between us?"

He was right. I'd known Rogers since I was a rookie, and he was a senior level detective. When he'd been one of my bosses during the previous administration, I'd had no trouble receiving orders from him. In fact, my respect for him as a superior was one of the reasons I'd been behind him becoming the acting police chief. What _had_ gone wrong?

Pointing to a chair, I asked, "May I?" At his nod, I sat down and looked him in the eye. "I don't want to be at odds with you either, sir. I'm more than supportive of you being the acting chief of this police department, and I sincerely hope the title of chief becomes permanent for you. You're a good cop, and that's saying a lot for our department after the hell we endured thanks to Kennard."

Rogers slowly took his own seat. "I sense a 'but' in there. What's the problem?"

I assessed him cautiously. "You have to understand I'm still not completely over the anger and humiliation I endured for the _second _time in my career at the hands of men who are supposed to be my brothers by badge. I also haven't quite put to rest the frustration and pressure I feel to constantly prove my loyalty to this department. I feel as though because I turned down your offer of Lieutenant, I'm somehow being punished by being left of out of the loop on so many things that are of vital importance to not only my job but my family as well."

He picked up a pen and began to tap it against the blotter on his desk. "I think that's fair, and to a certain extent, you're probably right. My head is hard too. I don't like people turning me down for anything—but especially not when I know the person is damned qualified for what I'm asking them to do."

"I understand. But it was my choice, sir. I _am _damned good at what I do and that includes knowing what is best for me—both personally and professionally."

He eyed me for several uncomfortable moments where I did my best not to squirm. "What do you want from me, Joe? What is it I need to give you today in order for you to be fully on board with the department again?"

The answer flew out of my mouth before I even had to a chance to register the question. It was as essential to me as breathing. "Truth, sir." My eyes glittered as I stared at him. "I need for you to trust me enough with the truth. If I feel you're giving me that, I'll give you the same. If you hold back on me, I'll know, and I won't be as eager to play by the rules."

My answer brought about an immediate rising of the hackles for him. Scowling he said, "You don't have the authority to decide—"

"You asked me what I need, and I told you. It's that simple. Tell me the truth today, and you have my full cooperation."

A knock at the door prevented his response.

"Come in," he called out, still glaring at me.

Parks Johnson and Richard Samuelson entered the room somewhat hesitantly, already sensitive to the tension that hung over the room like a thick, woolen blanket.

"Are you ready for us, Chief?" DA Johnson asked.

"Yes, come in, gentlemen. Richard, I'm sure you know Joe already, but have you two met previously?" he motioned between Johnson and me.

We both nodded. "Our paths have crossed several times," I responded, "but usually we're on the same side of the table." To which Johnson gave a short, appreciate laugh.

"Well, have a seat, and let's see if we can get figure out what the hell's going on here," Rogers gestured toward two other chairs.

After everyone had settled in, Rogers got down to business, "Morelli, where is Anthony? Do you have any knowledge as to why he failed to appear in court today?"

"I don't, sir. I personally haven't spoken with Tony since a week ago today when I drove him to my mother's house to meet with Samuelson here. My wife Stephanie had an encounter with him in our kitchen on Thursday morning, and that's the last contact we've had with him."

"What happened on Thursday?" Johnson asked. "I haven't heard about this."

"He used a key I'd forgotten I'd given to him a long time ago to get into our home. He was looking for the suitcase his wife Angelina had given to Stephanie last Monday."

"The suitcase with the evidence on the drug house," Rogers pointed out needlessly.

"Why _do _you think he didn't he show up for court today?" Johnson questioned me.

_Okay, here we go. _Taking a subtle breath, I shifted forward in my seat. "While I don't _know _anything, my best guess would be that he is under the impression it is the only way to keep my other brother Paul safe at this time."

I watched Johnson and Rogers share a _not_-so-subtle glance. _So the DA was aware that Rogers has wanted Paul all along. _Shit—_more _secrets.

"Why didn't you feel it necessary to contact me last night when Paul made an appearance at your home, knowing he's a person of interest to this department?" Rogers asked, his face turning redder. He was obviously still ticked at me for not having told him sooner.

"After the half-assed pile of departmental bullshit I was fed at dinner last Thursday night, I wasn't feeling the need to do anything other than to find out what in the hell was going on with my brothers—sir." I could feel my blood pressure rising as well. _Shit. Watch yourself, Joe._

"Your tone and your disrespect are not appreciated, detective," he snapped. "I expect better from one of my senior officers. You were told what you needed to know at that particular point in time, and for reasons we've already discussed. Let's not drag these gentlemen into departmental politics."

"Fine," I agreed, deliberately leaving off the 'sir'. "Paul came to me, because he's frightened for both Tony and himself. As you and the District Attorney already have suspected, _he_ is the one who was involved with Jason Meachum, Punk Malone, Eric Gambino and Buster Herrick."

"He confessed that to you?" Johnson demanded, sitting forward in his chair as well. "Is he ready to turn himself in?"

"He's not. His reason for being involved is not what you all are assuming. There was no criminal intent on his part."

Johnson gave a rather sarcastic sounding laugh, "Right—of course not!"

Richard Samuelson raised his hand. "Let him finish before you start making inappropriate cracks."

"Go on," Rogers made a circular motion with his pen.

"It's a rather complicated story, sir, but I'll do my best to summarize it succinctly."

"You may wish to have this transcribed or recorded," Samuelson informed the DA.

"I think we're fine for now," Johnson smirked. It was obvious he wasn't going to believe a word I said. "Go ahead, Joe," he encouraged with an indulgent smile, as though he were talking to a two-year old.

I decided to go right for the bomb. "Okay—so here's the deal. For the past six months, Paul has been working as an informant for the Newark Police Department."

Silence.

"Ha! That's funny," Johnson finally managed to sputter. "You said that very convincingly. I'm impressed."

"Quit screwing around, detective," Rogers glowered at me, his face beet red now.

"Listen to him!" Samuelson jumped in.

"I almost wish I _were_ joking," I admitted, twisting my neck from side to side to try and relieve some tension. "He made the stupid ass mistake of having an affair with the seventeen-year old sister of Detective Brian Stampler of the Newark Police Department. Stampler caught wind of it, investigated Paul and found out he used to be friends with Meachum and his gang during high school. According to Paul, Stampler was investigating Louie Nagel's drug operation in Newark. He basically blackmailed Paul into being a Narc for him in exchange for not having _him_ arrested for soliciting a minor and statutory rape."

They weren't laughing now.

"Who's Louie Nagel?" Johnson demanded with a frown. "I've heard that name."

"He's a drug dealer over in Newark who turned up dead last Tuesday in the former apartment of Detective Morelli's wife." Rogers supplied stonily with a slight lift of the eyebrow in my direction. "We were unaware at the time that the two cases were related until evidence in the suitcase suggested otherwise. Not knowing this, I assigned Morelli to the case."

"You would have seen Nagel's name in the evidence submitted during discovery," Samuelson added, "But you wouldn't have had any need to pay attention to the name, as it doesn't pertain to your case."

"He _has_ no case," I disagreed. "Tony has nothing to do with any of this. He wasn't even aware of the fact Paul agreed to Stampler's bribe, until Paul became worried about the Stryker drop. He was fearful for his life and that of his wife and children, so he told Tony everything while they were in Barbados for my wedding."

"Then what?" Rogers questioned, shrugging his shoulders. He too seemed to be dismissing everything I was saying.

"Paul informed Stampler the Stryker drop was to take place that Friday night. Stampler told him that Newark would be there to make the bust. Through a totally unrelated source, Tony learned Trenton was also coming to make the bust. Tony went to Meachum's place to warn Paul to get away and contact Stampler. As soon as he left, Trenton arrived and swooped Tony up with the rest of those arrested."

"What _exactly _was it your brother was supposed to do for Stampler?" Johnson pressed. He wasn't being quite as much of a smartass now, but he certainly wasn't eating up my story either.

"He was instructed to do whatever it took to provide information for Stampler to link the two drug organizations so that Newark would be able to take down not only Nagel but Meachum and friends as well."

"Anything—meaning?"

"He bought, sold, ran and used drugs in order to gain Meachum's trust."

"Joe, this makes no sense and you know it," Rogers shook his head. "Police departments don't cross jurisdictions."

"_We _don't, but perhaps Newark isn't as interested in following protocol—or perhaps it's just Stampler who isn't. I went through the academy with him, sir. We weren't exactly friends."

Rogers tented his fingers beneath his chin. "I remember him vaguely myself. You were both rookies the same year, weren't you? As I recall though, his reputation was one of being very rules-oriented—almost a stickler for following proper procedures. Does that sound like a man who would organize a sting outside of his jurisdiction? I hardly think so!" he scoffed.

_Damn it! _This was going about as well as I'd thought it would. Hadn't Stephanie and I had enough trouble believing Paul last night ourselves? Why should these people believe it?

"But it is a _possible_ explanation," Samuelson pointed out. "Regardless, _my _client is guilty of nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Once he's found, we need to see about having all charges dismissed against him."

DA Johnson used that grating laugh of his again. The young, third-generation, blue-blooded attorney was starting to bug me.

"Guilty of nothing? How about guilty of withholding evidence in a criminal proceeding; guilty of breaking and entering; guilty of aiding and abetting a felon and possible murderer—?"

"Paul is not a murderer," I objected forcefully. "He claims neither he nor Tony had anything to do with Nagel's murder. They weren't the ones to break into my wife's former apartment, nor did they cause the damage to my vehicle. On Wednesday our house showed signs of someone trying to break in. Tony used a key on Thursday remember? Why would they have tried to break in on Wednesday if they had a key?"

"Did you report the attempted break in?" Rogers challenged.

_Shit. _"No."

"And yet you said you weren't aware at the time your brother had a key, so why wouldn't you have reported it? Were you afraid it was Tony and purposefully withheld evidence?" Johnson chimed in.

_Asshole. _"No, I wasn't withholding anything. I didn't call it in because "A" Stephanie and I had just discovered the suitcase, and I wanted to get it over to the precinct immediately; "B" Stephanie pointed out the fact that our dog Bob must have scared away the perpetrator. Tony knows our dog, so it more than likely wasn't him; and "C" I was most focused on getting my wife the hell away from our house while I brought the suitcase in."

"If this is true, which I, for one, don't believe a word of it, why wouldn't Paul have come forward immediately after learning Tony had been arrested. Why in God's name would he allow his own brother to take the rap for something he supposedly did?" he continued to push me.

Taking a deeper breath, I swallowed my pride and directed my answer toward Rogers instead, "Chief, I hope what I'm about to say proves to you my loyalty to the truth I mentioned to you earlier, because this is not something I'm comfortable discussing. It's no secret I was raised in a home with an alcoholic and horribly abusive father. As the oldest child, Tony took it upon himself to shield the rest of us siblings from his wrath as much as possible. He suffered unbelievable torture at the hands of my father. Now as an adult, he's turned to alcohol and women to numb his childhood pain. Unfortunately, he hasn't stopped thinking he needs to protect the rest of us—no matter what the cost may be to himself. Paul is used to this sort of behavior from our brother; it's nothing new."

"While I don't know Tony beyond my discussion with him last Monday at his mother's house, if I had to hazard a guess, I would say that what Detective Morelli is saying rings true with some of what Anthony said to me," Samuelson spoke up.

"Such as?" Rogers raised his eyebrows.

"Brett—you know I'm unable to share anything that is said between me and my client."

Rogers waved his hand impatiently. "I know, I know, Counselor—no lectures. Joe, listen—I'm sorry about your past. I really am. And you've laid out an interesting theory, but you and I both know there isn't a damned thing you've said here today that could hold up in court. You have no evidence—none—zip—zero. Beyond that, I know Bud Reynolds, Chief of the Newark PD. I've known him for _years_. He runs a clean operation. There's no way he would've authorized one of his detectives to organize a sting outside of his jurisdiction without contacting me about it."

Ignoring him, I asked the question that had been bugging me since last night. "How did Trenton know to make the bust _that _particular night?" I stared at my commanding officer. "Who told you about the drop?"

Rogers shook his head. "I can't tell you that."

"Bullshit!" I exploded, gripping the sides of my chair, so that I didn't give in to the urge to punch him. "Do you know how fucking sick I am of people telling me they _can't _tell me something? _He _knows, doesn't he?" I jabbed my finger at the DA.

"Joe—"

"No! Don't pull this shit with me, Rogers. You wanted my full cooperation. I've given you everything you've asked. I _deserve _to know what the fuck is going on. Screw the fact we're talking about my brothers. I'm a damned good detective, and I want the truth."

Rogers stared back at me for several uncomfortable moments. Finally, he turned toward Richard Samuelson. "Counselor, I think your presence is no longer required at this time."

Samuelson bristled. "I beg to differ. If my client is being accused unnecessarily—"

"_Your_ client needs to worry about getting his ass back into the courtroom," Rogers retorted. "I'll be in contact with you later today to let you know the status of our search for him."

"Fine," he responded stiffly, gathering his papers. "Joe, I'd appreciate hearing from you as well when you have more information."

"You got it," I agreed as I offered him my hand. "Thank you for all that you're doing for my family."

He briefly shook hands with Johnson and Rogers, and then made his way out of the office.

As soon as he was gone, Rogers turned back to me. "What do you want to know?"

_Finally. _"I want to know how our guys knew to make the bust that Friday night. Who tipped you off?"

Rogers shared a long look with the DA before responding. "We have an informant working inside Meachum's organization."

_What? _

"Who?" I demanded.

"Myra Flowers."

_Oh fuck. _I was literally struck dumb for a moment. Paul, a Narc for the Newark Police Department had been carrying on an affair all this time with Myra Flowers, a Narc for the Trenton Police Department? This was worse than any nightmare I could've imagined.

"How."

Rogers didn't try to pretend he didn't know what I was asking. "Flowers has been Meachum's on again/off again woman for _years_. Her role in the organization was nil up until about the same time Paul was brought in."

I was still in shock. "Go on."

"Over the years, she's been busted several times for drug possession. Several years ago, one of those busts was performed by Jake Dorsey."

I suddenly had a bad feeling I knew where this was going.

"You already know from the Kennard Case that Dorsey was infamous for blackmailing people he'd busted into becoming informants for him. You'll recall those informants were how Kennard and Dorsey moved Stryker product into Trenton."

My head slowly nodded.

"Dorsey used Myra as a way to hook up with Meachum and begin moving product through his organization. I'm sure that product eventually made its way into Newark from Meachum to Louie Nagel."

There went my stomach.

"We didn't know _any _of this until after you brought down Kennard, and we got a hold of Dorsey's records. Unfortunately, there wasn't as much information about Meachum's organization we would have liked other than the fact Myra was serving as the link between Dorsey and Meachum. When Myra was arrested in the sweep made after Kennard and Dorsey were killed, she offered to get us Meachum's organization in exchange for immunity. After careful consideration, we decided to take her up on her offer."

"And no one thought to inform me?" I asked bitterly.

"Not when she told us there was a new major player in Meachum's gang—Paul Morelli. She said he was rising through the organization quickly, and she thought she could deliver him to us as well as Meachum and the others."

"What exactly were her instructions?"

Rogers winced slightly. "To do anything it took to bring down Paul as well as the others."

"Including sleeping with him?"

"Whatever it took."

I sat back in my chair to absorb what I'd just been told. So basically Paul had been told by Stampler to do anything to get further into the organization, including sleeping with Meachum's girlfriend. Meanwhile, Myra had been instructed by Rogers to do anything it took to get Paul to trust her with his plans, including sleeping with him. Two Narcs using one another for the same damn purpose against each other's knowledge. What a fucking joke!

"Myra's preliminary hearing today was a set-up then, correct?"

"Yes. We told her not to appear today in order to save face with Meachum, in case he failed to appear. Right now we have her being watched for her protection."

"Lucky her," I responded bitterly. "In the meantime, Paul is being left to hang out in the dry."

"Bullshit," DA Johnson, who had been abnormally quiet the past few minutes interjected. "Your loyalty to your family is clouding your judgment, Morelli. What you've given us today is a tale of a desperate man who's playing on your loyalty to try and get him out of the goddamned mess he created. He's already used your older brother. Now he's set his eyes on you."

_Arrogant prick_. He knew nothing about my family or me! I closed my eyes briefly and tried to visualize Stephanie's hand on my leg calming me down. "I know, Paul," I said in a measured tone, but you could still hear the anger simmering underneath.

Taking another breath, I continued, "I would've known if he was lying to me last night. I believe every word he told me. For Christ's sake, how could anyone make up such a ridiculous story? Meachum thinks it was Paul who ratted on him and caused the bust that Friday night. Since being let out on bail, he's harassed Paul's wife in front of their children and continues to threaten to kill Paul. Tony knows this and is using himself as a decoy to try and shift Meachum's attention onto him. They're both in very real danger of being killed. Both of their wives and families have already left town to avoid further run-ins with Meachum. And I'm personally scared to death for my mother, my sisters and—most importantly—my pregnant wife."

"No way," Johnson was shaking his head. "You've got _nothing, _Morelli—not a single, goddamned thing to prove any of this cock-a-mamie bullshit."

I could tell by the way Rogers was studying me that he was at least willing to entertain the idea. He blew out a breath. "My head says to agree with Parks here, but I've known you for a long time, Joe. You're a damn, fine cop, and I trust your instincts. However—"

_Shit. _Here it comes.

"Parks is right. You _don't _have anything—not even a single shred of evidence—that might prove what you're saying. Even though his name is never mentioned, the handwriting in the journals from the suitcase can all be analyzed by a handwriting expert and proven to be Paul's script. That does you zero good however, because he never explains in the journal that what he's doing is collecting evidence. You've seen what was in the suitcase yourself. You know as well as I do it looks like the bookwork for a major drug organization."

Dropping my head back, I frowned at the ceiling for a moment. "So that's it? You're going to go after them both?"

"If anything, I think you've provided me with more information to go after Tony," Johnson declared, furiously making notes on his legal pad while he talked. "Tony is clearly aiding and abetting Paul. I think it's time to put out a warrant for Paul's arrest too and take them both down."

I shook my head angrily. "I told you the truth, Chief. I played by the rules and look what it got me. Nothing. Nothing but a blood-thirsty, hotshot district of attorney, who's looking for notches on his belt."

In a heartbeat, Johnson was in my face. "You son of a bitch—"

"Enough—both of you!" Rogers said forcefully, banging his palm on top of his desk. "Parks, I'll call you later today."

"No way. You're not—"

"I will _call _you later, Counselor," Rogers narrowed his gaze authoritatively.

"You're damned right you will," he shot back, while shoving papers into his briefcase. "This is bullshit. Morelli is chasing after a rabbit trying to save his brothers. Do not let his little tale of woe here convince you to do something that will prevent you from becoming the permanent chief of police."

"Are you threatening me, Parks?" Rogers' soft voice sent a chill through the room.

"I'll speak with you later," the DA refused to back down and slammed out of the office.

"You certainly have a way of making friends, Joe—you know that?" Rogers addressed me. It appeared he was almost trying to hold back a smile.

"Yes sir. I'm known for my cheery disposition and cooperative attitude. I scored very highly in that area in the academy."

He snorted and tilted his chair backward. "Alright—let's cut all the bullshit. I'm not saying I don't believe the information you've given to me this morning. I'm not saying I do either. What I _am _saying is you have _nothing _to prove what you're telling me is true."

"And if I get proof?"

His hawk-eyed gaze assessed me. "Are you planning on doing something that jeopardizes your career, detective?"

"Did I say that?" I countered evenly. "My plan is to do my job. I'm going to continue to work the Nagel investigation to the best of my ability. That is unless you're planning to pull me from it too."

"Watch the attitude, detective," Rogers advised coolly. "I have no intention of removing you at this time. However, don't make me regret that decision."

Swallowing my frustration, I asked in a more respectful tone, "I'd like to pull a couple of the new guys in on it too if you're agreeable—sir."

It was obvious from the look on his face he didn't trust me. _Well tough shit_! I was having trust issues as well. If he thought I was just going to just sit back and let them go after both my brothers, he was fucking crazy.

"Permission granted." He leaned closer, placing his forearms on his desk. "Don't let me down, Joe. Play by the rules. In the meantime, you stay away from anything having to do with your brothers, including looking for them yourself. Parks was right about one thing—they're not worth either of us losing our careers over."

I stood abruptly and flashed him a defiant look. "My loyalty may be to truth, sir, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stand here and let you denigrate my brothers. They _are _worth it!"

Leaning across his desk, I shook his hand merely out of disciplined training. Without saying another word, I made my way out his door, past Sherry the flirt and out into the larger office area of the senior administration. At once it felt like twenty pairs of eyes stopped what they were doing to stare at me, which I knew wasn't completely true. Still, once again I found myself at the middle of the office gossip mill. _Shit. _It was getting old.

I waited until I was back in my cubicle in the newly created vice and homicide bullpen before pulling out my cell phone to call Stephanie.

"Hey Cupcake," I greeted, as soon as she answered. "How do barbecue ribs sound for dinner tonight?"

My smart wife caught on immediately. "Would these ribs happen to be in Newark?"

"It just so happens they are. Care to join me?"

"It's a date."


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Happy Friday again! Where the heck is summer going anyway? Hope you all had a good holiday.

Thanks to some of the new readers who have left reviews of late. I surely appreciate your joining the ride!

Also, thanks to my powerhouse Beta reader Julie for being not only fast, but also efficient and full of perfectly perfect ideas.

* * *

Chapter Four

**Steph's POV**

"Oh Gawd! Tell me I'm not going to have to listen to another love fest between you two newlyweds. Last week's conversation while we were at the refinery was bad enough. Don't you people know you shouldn't be having phone sex any longer? You're married and pregnant—and I mean reeeaaalllyy pregnant. Give us a break!"

I glared at Lula over my steak salad, waving one hand to try and shush her. She, Connie and I had just been served our meals at the Cracker Barrel in Hamilton. Lula had gotten it into her head she wanted fried chicken, and was upset because I hadn't allowed her to get any the last time we'd had lunch together. Since I didn't think having fried chicken and ribs in the same day sounded like something the doctor would order for my babies, we'd compromised. I'd also ordered a side of CB's famous turnip greens due to the high iron content. Honestly—I haven't even had those children yet, and already I felt deserving of 'Mother of the Year' for being willing to suffer through eating all this nasty health crap.

"So did you find out what's going on?" I asked Joe, who'd just called me from the office following his meeting with Rogers, District Attorney Parks Johnson and Richard Samuelson, Tony's attorney. He'd asked me to go to Newark with him for dinner at the same barbecue place where Jessie Stampler worked.

"Yeah," Joe acknowledged with a frustrated sigh. "Steph, the whole thing is so fucking crazy, you'll never believe me when I tell you. But it's going to have to be later, okay? I have a bullpen full of detectives waiting to talk with me right now about their current assignments. I need to get them squared away, do some of my own work and stop off to see my mom before I head home to meet you for our date."

I knew the suspense of having to wait all day was going to kill me, but I also understood he probably didn't have the privacy necessary to talk either.

"No problem. I can be patient."

That drew a laugh out of him. "Liar. You have absolutely zero patience."

"Well, in my mind I do!" I retorted.

His voice went molten. "You think so, huh? Let's see how much patience you have tonight when I take my tongue and put it—"

"Joe!" My face was beet red, and Lula was rolling her eyes at me.

"Damn, are you two rabbits or somethin'? You're already havin' twins. How many more of them babies you want to stuff in there? Tell Officer Hottie to stop and let you catch your breath already!"

"Lula!" Connie glared teasingly. "It's none of our business if Steph wants to have phone sex with her husband in the middle of a public place." She covered her ears melodramatically, pretending to look anywhere but at me.

"I am NOT having phone sex!" I exclaimed and then turned even redder when I realized the people at three surrounding tables had stopped their conversations to stare at me. Lowering my voice, I hissed, "Would you both please shut up?"

Joe started cracking up. "I bet you're blushing, aren't you. God, I love it when you blush. It turns me on." His voice softened. "You'll never know how much I love you, Stephanie. Try and get in a nap after lunch, will you? You're going to need it tonight."

My heart did a little stutter-step, and I found myself wiggling on my side of the booth. "I'll try. I love you too. I'll call if I learn anything of interest here."

"Sounds good. Later, Cupcake."

Turning off my cell, I looked up to find Lula and Connie both shaking their heads at me, nasty little grins adorning their faces.

"Don't start with me," I warned, picking up my fork. "I'm pregnant and extremely hormonal. There's no telling what I might do with this fork if you keep provoking me."

Connie threw up her hands in mock self-defense. "Warning duly noted, Mrs. Morelli. May I at least say that marriage and pregnancy both agree with you? I've never seen you looking happier or more beautiful."

The sincerity of her compliment threw me for a moment. "Th—thank you," I stuttered and then quickly added, "I _am_ happy."

"_Hunh. _Happier than Ranger from what I've heard," Lula grunted, picking up a fried chicken leg and attacking it like a starving dog would a steak bone.

"Lula," Connie said in a warning undertone. "She doesn't need this—"

"_What? _I ain't sayin' she's in the wrong. I'm just sayin' the guy is hurting."

"I _know _he's hurting," I said sadly. Forcing myself to take a bite of the turnip greens, I practically gagged and added, "Don't you think I feel like shit over the fact I've caused him so much pain—how I caused Joe so much pain? I—"

"What are you gonna to do about it?" she demanded, narrowing her gaze at me. "You just gonna sit around and mope about losing one of your best friends? Or are you gonna try and do somethin' to repair the damage?"

"That's easier said than done," Connie noted perceptibly. "You don't just go from being lovers to friends overnight."

"Well, it sure as hell ain't gonna happen if you sit around on your soon-to-be monstrous ass and hide from the situation either. You need to talk to him!"

Connie stopped chewing her chicken fried steak. "I hate to say this—but she's right. I think you're going to have to be the first one to make a move."

"I know. I know," I shooed off their advice. "I just need to think about it first. It's not like Joe and I don't have anything else going on right now—like keeping his two brothers out of prison."

"Yeah, Vinnie mentioned Tony didn't show up to his court date this morning," Connie said sympathetically. "You know—it's funny. Despite the fact he's out his money right now, Vinnie didn't seem very upset over the fact he was a no-show."

I grunted. "That's because he sees this as a way to get back at me for quitting. He's going to sic Bulldog on Tony."

"Oooo—wee—Vinnie _does _have a grudge against you right now," Lula agreed, turning her attention to her side dish of macaroni and cheese.

I couldn't help but sigh as I watched my two friends devour their greasy, nitrate-filled food. There was no question I was falling more in love with my babies every day—especially with the stress of the paternity test behind me—but not eating what I wanted, particularly junk food, just plain sucked!

"Any idea why he's so upset with me?" I asked, methodically taking another bite of salad.

Connie shook her head. "The only thing I can think of is he was far more impressed with your work than any of us realized. I think he feels like he did you a favor by giving you the job and then watched you grow into a decent bounty-hunter—"

"A lucky one," I interjected quickly.

She shrugged. "Whatever—I think he feels like a lot of time was invested in you, and now you're just gone. He was really depressed for a few days there last week—that is until Bulldog entered the scene."

_Perfect segue. _"Yeah, so what's the deal with Bulldog anyway. Did Vinnie seek him out, or did he answer an ad in the paper or what?"

"He just showed up one day," Lula noted, reaching for a corn muffin. "Walked in right off the street and asked Vinnie if he was hiring."

"Did you all run a background check on him?"

"I don't know what _Vinnie_ did, but I know he didn't ask me to," Connie offered. "Bulldog didn't even give him a resume. He just told Vinnie he used to be a bounty hunter out in LA. He supposedly got weary of the West Coast and has been slowly working his way across the country over the past two years."

"Why here?"

"Who knows? He didn't say, and Vinnie didn't ask. I don't think he cares. He's desperate for someone to go after the high dollar FTA's now without you and Ranger."

"I wish you'd convince Ranger to come back," Lula groused, "or at the very least to have some of his newer employees use Vinnie's place as training ground for their work at Rangeman. That week Ranger and Tank were in charge was the bomb."

"It really was," Connie agreed. "I'm scared to death of Bulldog. I can't explain it, but there's—"

"It's his eyes," Lula interrupted knowingly. "There's something in his eyes that's up to no good. I've seen that look too many times in my day."

Connie and I sensed she was thinking about her life as a hooker. When it came to men, I trusted Lula's instinct. If she said there was something untrustworthy about Bruce Jackson—AKA Bulldog—then I believed her."

We were getting close to finishing up. "Whatcha gonna do when these babies come, Girlie? You gonna be one of them stay-at-home-moms, or are you planning on dumpin' them off at daycare all day in order to work?"

The idea of 'dumping' my babies off anywhere sent a chill down my spine, but then so did the idea of staying home all day. _Shit. _I pushed the dilemma out of my brain for now. I was beginning to wonder if there was anything left _in_ my brain the way I'd been shoving negative thoughts out of there left and right lately.

"Thanks for meeting me," I said, as we headed toward our cars a few minutes later. "We need to plan on doing this once a week—at least until I—" _Gulp! _"Deliver the twins."

"Lawd—better you than me, Girlie. I'd shoot myself if I was pregnant with two babies," Lula wrinkled her face.

_No, she'd probably explode if she were pregnant with two babies. _

"You'd manage," I smiled, telling myself to be nice. "How are things with you and Tank anyway? Glad you moved back in with him?"

"Except for them damn cats—yes. Jesus, you'd think those things were _his _kids the way he fusses after them."

Connie and I exchanged an amused look, and I said, "Well, I for one am glad to see you two back together. He's a good guy."

"So's his boss," she observed slyly. "Don't leave him hangin' too long."

Swallowing hard, I nodded my head. "I won't. See you both soon."

"Bye Steph," Connie smiled.

No sooner had I pulled out of the Cracker Barrel parking lot than I was calling Joe back.

"Find out anything?" he asked by way of greeting.

I could hear voices buzzing around him, and I imagined how swamped he probably was with trying to keep up with his job of supervising the Vice and Homicide Division, plus running the Nagel investigation and trying to figure out what was going on with his brothers.

"Sort of. Connie said Bulldog just walked in off the street looking for a job. Said he was a bounty hunter in LA—got tired of the West Coast and has been working his way across the country for the past two years."

Joe growled in aggravation. "Okay—time to run him through the system."

"That's what I figured. At this point, you can't afford _not_ to dot every "I" and cross ever "T"."

"You're right. Damn it, I wish Lula and/or Manoso were doing the searching."

"Speaking of Ranger—Lula was giving me hell for not making an effort to contact him after all that happened on Friday along with his reclusive weekend," I relayed somewhat anxiously. "Do _you _think I should be making an effort to call him?"

Joe was silent for a moment. "I think…" He paused again. "I think you need to do what your heart tells you to do—and I'm not just saying that. This really is between the two of you now. But whatever you decide, believe me when I say I trust you, and I'm okay with it."

"Okay," I agreed breathlessly. "Thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for." He stopped again in order to speak with someone near him. "I have to go, Cupcake. Thanks for the info. Try and get some rest."

"Okay," I got out before he disconnected.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the other familiar button on my cell phone before I could chicken out. The call immediately went to voice mail.

"Hey," I greeted nervously. "It's me. So I'm thinking it's time we talked. What do you say to lunch tomorrow? Call me if you're interested." I moved to hang up, but as an afterthought added, "We'll never know if we can be friends or not unless we try. I'm willing if you are."

Disconnecting, I let out all of my air in a whoosh. The ball was in his court.

**Joe's POV**

_How the hell had it gotten to be three o'clock already? _

I looked at the piles of paperwork around me and groaned. Being the head of a unit was going to take getting used to if it required this much extra work all the time. I'd been going nonstop since I'd returned to the bullpen after my meeting with Rogers. Briefings and questions about current caseloads, handing out new assignments, asking for assistance on the Nagel investigation from two of the new recruits and trying to get through the mounds of paperwork required for all of those things to happen had plagued me all afternoon. And I still needed to stop by my mother's house before going home to meet Stephanie for our trip to Newark. Right now it literally felt as though there weren't enough hours in the day to make it so I could breathe easily again. Of course I probably wouldn't take another easy breath until my brothers were found.

A knock at the door brought me out of my private pity party.

"Yeah?" I called out.

Darryl Davis, AKA Stumpy, stepped into the room, looking nervous. He was one of the new men hired after the Kennard Case to replace the five Vice cops killed in the explosion at the Comensoli Dry Cleaners. The nickname Stumpy came from the fact he was only five foot nine and had about the shortest legs I'd ever seen. It was a carryover from when he'd worked for the Princeton Police Department. What he lacked in height, however, he more than made up for in intelligence. At only twenty-six years of age, Davis was one of the smartest young detectives I'd worked with in a long time.

"I've got the results on that guy you asked me to run, Morelli," he offered, setting the report on my desk.

Reaching for it, I said, "Thanks. Can you just give me the gist right now?" I motioned toward the only other chair in my small cubicle

Stumpy took the seat and ran a hand across his sandy blonde crew cut. "Bruce "Bulldog" Jackson, fifty-three years old—a former homicide cop with the LAPD where he served for twenty-eight years. His record was clean up until about five years ago when he had a string of captures that went horribly wrong. Word is he "accidentally" killed his suspects on three separate occasions in a year's time. Every instance was questionable, but not enough evidence could be pulled together to charge him with anything. It was suspicious enough however that all of his superiors not so subtlety suggested an early retirement. It was either that or get demoted back to a beat cop."

My gut immediately tightened, but I managed to keep a neutral expression on my face. "So he was a cop before a bounty hunter?"

"Yeah—he did the bounty hunter bit for a couple of years before he decided to move east. There's nothing suspicious there as far as I can tell, although a couple of his apprehensions were a little sketchy. No specific details."

"Anything on his association with the Iron Pigs?"

"He joined the motorcycle gang about a year before this string of accidental shootings he had. During his time with them, he was linked with a couple of major bar brawls against a Hell's Angels group out in LA, but that's about it."

_So Bulldog had a penchant for wanting to seek his own justice. _I couldn't stop a grimace from crossing my face. What did that mean for Tony?

"Is it okay for me to ask why we care about this guy?" Stumpy asked, looking slightly ill at ease. We hadn't worked together long enough yet to establish the rapport most detectives felt for one another.

"Of course," I nodded. Despite it being awkward as hell, I knew I needed to take the honest and direct approach regarding Tony's situation. Somehow trust needed to be developed with these new hires.

I continued, "Jackson is in Trenton now. Vincent Plum, a local bonds agent, has hired him as a bounty hunter. I'm sure you're aware my brother Anthony was arrested recently on drug charges. He failed to appear in court this morning, and now this Bulldog character will be gunning for him."

Stumpy _really _started to look uneasy. He sat there staring at my desk, obviously wanting to say something more and afraid to do so.

"It'd be better to just spit it out," I advised, leaning back in my chair.

He let out a puff of air. "Okay. I'm new here and still trying to learn the ropes, mind you, but it seems as though there's a lot of talk going around this new Vice and Homicide Division about a lot of things—including you."

It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. _Welcome to Trenton, kid. _

"I'm sure you and the other new guys have heard an earful. Anything in particular that has you concerned?"

"Well…" he paused, "I was kind of wondering about your brother and his situation. I'm not assigned to his case or anything, but some of the other new guys are asking questions about how you get such preferential treatment from Rogers all the time."

_Preferential treatment? Hell, I was lucky I still had an ass after all the licks I'd taken from Rogers lately. _

"Meaning?" I asked calmly.

"You know—the fact you just had a two week vacation; that you're now the head of a brand new unit; that you were asked to be a Lieutenant and declined; that you were given the Nagel investigation simply because it took place in your wife's apartment; that you've been given access to evidence being used against your brother; that you—"

Holding up my hand, I responded dryly, "I get the point. Before I answer your question, I'd like an honest answer from you. I know you've only worked with me for a very short time, but so far what's your assessment of me?"

Stumpy shrugged. "That's the thing—you seem like a decent enough guy. As far as I can tell, you've been working your ass off since you've been back from vacation. You haven't demanded anything less than what you've been willing to give in terms of hours, workload, etc."

"But," I primed him to go further.

He shifted in the chair. "I don't want to give you the idea it's everyone who's gossiping. The guys who've been here for awhile keep telling us you're clean, but I think some of the new people are having a hard time wondering if and how you're separating family loyalty from the badge."

_God, I hated this rumor mill shit. _Having lived in the Burg all my life, I should've been used to it by now, and yet it still felt embarrassing as hell to know my business was being blabbed all over the precinct and Trenton—all the damn time.

"Here's the thing, Darryl. The only way I'm going to prove my loyalty and trustworthiness to you and the other new guys is by doing exactly the things you just mentioned. And I never would expect more from you than I'm willing to give. The longer you're in Trenton the more you're going to hear about the Morelli's—how we're a bad lot—every single one of us. I can tell you I'm not like my brothers, cousins, uncles, my—" I paused for the briefest of seconds, "my father, but until you see me walking the talk for awhile, you and the rest of the guys are going to wonder about me. I know that. I accept it. Let me ask you—do you know the details of what happened with the Kennard Case?"

"Yeah. Rogers made a point of outlining the whole thing for us after we were hired. And of course I've seen all the news reports too."

"Then you know my wife and I faced the devil himself the night Kennard tried to kill us both. I don't feel as though anyone "owes" me anything as far as my job. I earned this position through years of hard work. But I sure as hell feel as though my fellow cop brothers owe me respect for what I did to help bring down the bastard who stained the reputation of the TPD. I deserve trust from all of you. And one day I hope to get it."

Stumpy stood and held out his hand. "Fair enough. I appreciate your taking the time to clear that up for me. I'll be sure to pass the word along in the gossip mill."

"No need," I stood as well. "People have to figure out these kinds of things on their own. Thanks for the information on Jackson."

"No problem," he replied before leaving the room.

Dropping down wearily into my chair, I closed my eyes for a minute and thought about the information he'd given to me—both about the office gossip and about Bulldog. The former I couldn't do anything about. The new guys would either find a way to trust me, or I'd have to take further action—later. Right now I needed to think about what to do regarding Paul and Tony—especially Tony. If this Jackson character was indeed a loose cannon, what might he try to pull?

The phone on my desk rang.

"Morelli," I answered abruptly.

"Joe—" It was Rogers. "I wanted to let you know we've been given the all-clear from the DA's office and Judge Shepherd to go ahead and issue a warrant for Paul's arrest."

_Shit. _"I figured it was coming," I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact when inside my heart was pounding. The race was on—everyone would be out searching for those two idiots now. Unfortunately, the police had too much else to do to be out on a manhunt, so Meachum or Bulldog would be more apt to find them first. Then what?

"Do you have anything more for me on the Nagel investigation?" Rogers inquired.

"Not at this time, sir. I plan to follow up on a couple of leads this evening."

"Just don't go off half-cocked, detective," he reminded me with authority.

"I appreciate the advice, sir."

He let out a bark of laughter. "No, you don't! But I'll let you get back to it."

"Right. Thanks for the call," I managed to get out before putting down the phone and swearing again. What a mess. If only Stephanie or Manoso were still working for Vinnie I wouldn't be quite as worried. I may not have always approved of their methods either, but I knew they could be trusted not to take it upon themselves to administer their own form of vigilante justice."

Staring at the telephone for several long minutes, I wondered—would it be smart or stupid to make the call?

**Ranger's POV**

I was finishing up listening to Stephanie's voice mail for the third time when Tank stepped into my office.

"Got a minute?" he asked, studying me seriously.

Nodding my ascent reluctantly, I slid aside the report I was reading and watched him take a seat in front of my desk. He looked me square in the eye and asked, "How you doing today?"

_Damn it—there he went again. _I was afraid he'd try to go down the same beaten road as yesterday. I didn't need this shit right now. I'd finally managed to get my mind focused on business again that morning when Stephanie had left her damned voice message. _Did I want to have lunch? _Hell, I didn't know _what _I wanted, but I knew it certainly wasn't round two with Tank the Inquisitor.

"I'm fine," I responded in a strong, authoritative voice. "What's up? If this isn't business related, I don't really have time to—"

"It's business."

I stopped short. "Okay. What is it?"

"Morelli called."

_Oh for God's sake—what now! Would I ever be rid of that fool?_

Schooling my features, I merely lifted an eyebrow.

"He said he knew better than to try and call _you_ so soon after Friday's confrontation, but he asked to hire us."

This caused both eyebrows to rise in suspicion. My curiosity finally got the better of me. "For?"

"Evidently his brother was a no-show in court today. He's now officially FTA on drug charges. Morelli's been doing some checking into this Bulldog character Vinnie hired. I told you what Lula said about him, right?"

Nodding my head, I replied, "Stephanie mentioned him the other day as well." _I told her he was bad news._

"The guy—"

"Bruce Jackson," I supplied.

"Right. Jackson. Anyway, he supposedly told Vinnie he worked as a bounty hunter out in LA for a couple of years and has been steadily working his way across the country ever since. Morelli had a search run on him though, and evidently on three separate occasions Jackson killed a homicide suspect when he was going in for a takedown. All three times it was questionable whether or not he'd fired his gun recklessly, but it was suspicious enough to force an early retirement."

"You're not telling me anything I don't know, Tank. And what the hell does any of this have to do with Rangeman?"

Tank stared at me from across my desk. "Morelli's asked for you or one of us to approach Vinnie about being put on the search for his brother. Says he's willing to pay for that to happen."

"Why?"

"Why's he willing to pay? I don't know. I guess—"

"No—why me? Why someone from Rangeman?"

Tank's stare became a smile—more of a gloat actually. "He says he wants someone he can trust to find his brother, and he wants the best. He's worried about Bulldog having a little more than a body receipt on his mind. And until he knows more, he wants someone he knows out looking for Tony—and I guess his other brother Paul too."

"What's _he _done?" I asked, not really caring. Morelli's family issues were none of my concern.

"Both are tied to Jason Meachum's drug house over on Clark." He didn't have to explain who Meachum was. Tank and I made it our business to know what was happening out on the street. We both knew Meachum.

Tank continued, "Morelli says there's quite a story behind this whole mess, but the bottom line is the police have issued a warrant for Paul's arrest too based upon information they now have on his involvement with Meachum. They're out there together somewhere, and Morelli wants them found by you before Bulldog gets to them."

"No," I said quietly, but in a tone that booked no room for argument.

Not unless you were Tank, who seemed to thrive upon pushing my buttons the past two days.

"Why the hell not?" he asked, genuinely bewildered. "This is a serious offer he's making, Ranger. He said to name your price."

"No," I repeated even more forcefully. _The price of having to work with Morelli would be too high right now. _But Tank didn't need to know that. "First off—I'm not doing work for Vinnie any longer. I can't just waltz in off the street and ask to be put back on his payroll. Secondly, Morelli can't afford us, and you know and I both damn well know it. Thirdly, I have no interest in being involved with the guy in any capacity again for the rest of my life. Fourthly—"

"Well that's just stupid," Tank interrupted angrily.

I couldn't believe my ears. What the fuck did he think he was doing challenging me like this?

"Have you lost your mind? You seem to have forgotten over the weekend that I am your _boss_. I don't appreciate your attitude toward me the past two days."

"Then you'll probably like this even less," he continued boldly. "I think you're scared to take on the job."

I was beyond livid. Holding up my thumb and forefinger, I measured an inch. "You are about _this_ close to facing disciplinary action, Tank. I'm not fucking around here. Do _not_ think that just because we're friends you can keep overstepping your bounds like this!"

Tank responded by throwing his hands in the air. "Who else can? You sure as hell aren't allowing anyone else into your head right now. If I don't keep on your ass, you're going to drown in bitterness and regret. I know. I've seen it before. It wouldn't be the first time you've—"

My eyes flashed, and he immediately backed down. Now _that _was a road we were _never _going down again. My past in the military was a closed door—period.

Tank had the sense to look at least partially chastised. "Sorry," he muttered sincerely. He leaned forward in chair. "The fact is you _are _more than just my boss, Carlos. You're my friend—my brother. It's killing me to stand back and watch you self-destruct over Stephanie's choice. I care about all of the people involved in the situation—very much—but I only have _one _brother."

"She called me," I spoke involuntarily. _Shit, where had that come from?_

"Yeah?" Tank's face remained placid.

"Left a message asking me if I wanted to have lunch."

"And do you?"

"Hell, I don't know!" I exclaimed, gripping the sides of my chair. "It's all still so fucking raw! Those could have been _my _kids." Measuring that same inch with my fingers, I continued, "I was _this _close to having some semblance of a life beyond the job. I know it's not what I need or probably even deserve, but for five fucking days last week I allowed myself to think "what if"."

"What if?"

"Yeah—what if I hadn't made past choices that now make association with me so precariously dangerous to those I care about; what if I'd told Stephanie I loved her sooner; what if I'd given her the commitment she needed—what if the baby—bab—_ies_—had been mine?"

I couldn't believe I'd said that much. I'd never been so forthcoming with my inner thoughts to anyone before. Truthfully, I couldn't afford to have such inner thoughts.

Shaking my head in disgust, I said dismissively, "Forget it."

"All right, if that's what you want," he agreed with a single shoulder shrug.

_Now what was his game? _"That's it? No argument?"

"What's the point? You're right. It _would_ be easiest just to forget it all—Stephanie—Morelli—the past three years. This way you can go back to being a real man of mystery. After all, you portray one so well."

I was tired of this conversation. Wasn't a man allowed to bury himself in work any longer? I tried to push him along, "Your point?"

"My point is whether you realize it or not, you _have _changed over the course of the past three years. Stephanie softened your heart. She opened it to the possibility that there's more to life than what goes on within this building. There are people who care about you, who want to have relationships with you, who want to know the _real _Carlos Manoso. If Stephanie meant anything to you, isn't it worth the effort to at least _try _and be friends with her? Isn't having a part of her better than having _nothing_?"

As much as I wanted to blast him again for interfering, I had to admit it was a fair question. _Was _she worth the effort? Could I be a friend to her knowing I'd never have the chance to bury myself within her heat again—to claim her as mine? Would I be able to stand aside and watch Morelli love her in a way only reserved for him, or would I continue to want to choke the very life out of that lucky bastard?

"I don't know," I finally admitted honestly.

"You'll _never _know unless you try, Carlos," Tank insisted quietly. "_There's _your 'what if'. What if you made the effort and found out you still have something to offer one another outside of the bedroom?"

"What if we don't?" I countered quickly.

"Then at least you'll know," he replied steadily. "You'd be a goddamned fool not to at least try and see if you can salvage a friendship with her. She _is _worth the effort."

"Yeah—she is," I said to myself almost regretfully. My head knew Tank was right, but my heart—God, my heart still felt like it'd been through a meat grinder.

I met his penetrating gaze. "I'll think about it." When he started to open his mouth, I held up my hand. "Enough."

He let out the breath he'd inhaled and nodded. "Fine." After another moment, he asked, "What about Morelli?"

"No," I shook my head. "Rangeman is not available to fill his request at this time."

Tank studied me with another hard look, but finally nodded. "I'll call him."

"Anything else?"

"Not now. Any word on when you're leaving for Miami?"

"I have a few things to tie up here, and then I'll make arrangements. I'll need you to be in charge while I'm gone. It could be a few weeks."

"Fine." Tank was all business again. _Good. _Finally I could breathe again.

He left my office, and I stared out the window for several minutes. _Was I willing to try and be Stephanie's friend? Or did I want to close that chapter of my life for good? _I still didn't have an answer, but in the meantime I wanted to hear her again. Picking up my cell phone, I punched the voice mail button and allowed her to voice fill my ear.

**Stephanie's POV**

"So he said no, huh?"

"That's what Tank said. I guess he wouldn't even consider it."

"I'm sorry."

"For what? It's not your fault."

"If all that crap hadn't happened between the three of us, you'd be having the best bounty hunter in Trenton helping you right now."

"Maybe—then again if the crap hadn't happened, maybe I wouldn't be sitting here next to the most beautiful woman in the world on my way to dinner either. You never know how fate works," Joe said gently squeezing my hand before letting it go to rest upon my thigh. "Don't go there again, Steph—please?"

I let out a little sigh and nodded. "I'm trying. What are you going to do now about Tony?"

"Not much I can do at this point but pray the police find them before Meachum or Jackson," he answered with frustration, effectively ending that particular conversation.

We were in the Avalanche on our way to Newark, and Joe had been telling me about his day, including Rogers' bombshell about Myra Flowers being a Narc for the Trenton Police department, his visit with his mother and his conversation with Tank. According to Joe, Mrs. Morelli had been absolutely devastated to hear about the latest developments with Tony and Paul—so much so that Joe had ended up calling Cathy to come back over to the house to stay with their mother for the evening.

He'd called Tank to try and hire Rangeman to work with Vinnie on the search for Tony only to be turned down by Ranger. _I_ hadn't heard anything back from Ranger either after the voice mail I'd left him. Clearly he'd decided to move on—alone. I wasn't certain how I felt about his decision, but I certainly wasn't happy. Watching the lights of the passing cars as they moved through the twilight allowed me a moment to wipe away the stray tear that had managed to escape from my eye. There was no sense in letting Joe know I was upset. He had enough on his plate right now.

We were almost to Newark, and despite the circumstances surrounding our visit; it felt good to be on a 'date' with my husband. Even better it felt good to be back in sync with him—almost like we'd been on our honeymoon two weeks ago.

"So did you have fun with Connie and Lula at lunch?" Joe asked as he maneuvered the truck to exit the freeway?

"Yeah—I miss them. I _don't _miss Vinnie, but according to the girls—_he _misses me. I think they're shitting me but whatever."

"I don't," Joe responded, easing our vehicle onto a main road. "You did good work for Vinnie. Besides that—you didn't take shit from him. As much as he'd deny it, I have no doubt your cousin admired and respected you for standing up to him all the time. I'd imagine he misses the challenge you brought on a daily basis."

I gave him a look. "You think I'm _challenging_, huh?"

He grinned in response. "Hell yes—you're challenging. Why do you think I fell in love with you?"

"I _thought _it was because of my sparkling personality."

He snorted. "That too—plus you're smart and funny and goofy and aggravating and—"

"Hey!"

He slid his hand further up my leg to stroke lightly against the juncture between my thighs. "And sexy as hell and breathtakingly gorgeous and—"

"Okay," I squirmed in response against his hand. "You're forgiven—at least until tonight. But then you might be in the doghouse again. You'll probably have to _show_ me how sorry you are."

I could barely see his wink in the glow of the instruments from the dashboard. "Anytime, Cupcake."

Turning onto another major road, I realized we were close to our destination.

"So what's the plan tonight?" I asked, already anticipating a plateful of juicy ribs.

"Firstly, I want a chance to talk with Jessie Stampler. I want to hear what _she _has to say about Paul and their relationship, and I want to find out her impressions of _dear_ older brother Brian."

"That's what I figured."

"But I also called and asked a buddy of mine from the Newark Police Department to join us for a drink after we finish dinner."

My eyebrows shot up. "You have a friend on their force?"

There was the grin again. "Cupcake, I have friends everywhere." When my eyebrows remained questioning, he laughed. "You know me—I've worked undercover on operations all over the place. Just because law enforcement agencies don't cross jurisdictions very often doesn't mean it never happens. I've worked with Newark on other cases in the past. One was right after I'd joined homicide—a murder case that's not even worth describing. The important thing is I got to be friends with Keith Chapman—my counterpart at the NPD. He's a good guy, and I think he might be of help."

"What are you hoping to get from him?"

"Impressions on Stampler—maybe some additional information on Louie Nagel—stuff like that."

"And my role tonight?"

"Same as last night with Paul—using that incredible instinct of yours to sniff out what's truth versus bullshit, keeping me focused, asking whatever questions you think are pertinent."

"Since when do you need help from me on an investigation," I asked, surprised to hear a tad bit of bitterness in my voice.

There was an uncomfortable silence during which I wanted to kick myself for having been so sensitive.

Joe went deadly serious. "Stephanie, I owe you a sincere apology."

The tone of his voice surprised the hell out of me. "For what?" I asked somewhat suspiciously.

"For all the times I obviously gave you the impression I didn't think you were capable. While I stand by the fact you didn't know what you were doing when Vinnie first hired you, I should have stressed way sooner how good you had become as a bounty hunter."

"I was lucky," I demurred much in the same way I had when Connie said the same thing to me at lunch.

"Luck certainly played a part in it," Joe acknowledged. "You have better luck than anyone I know. But—you also have better instincts than just about anyone I know too, and luck and instinct are pretty close cousins in my book. Regardless, I want you to know I'm sorry for all the times I made it seem as though you weren't smart or capable. Nothing could be farther from the truth."

I was shocked to find my throat closing with emotion. It _had _bothered me over the years when Joe had belittled my abilities—to the point where I'd begun to question them myself. In truth, it had been one of the most important reasons why Ranger had become so appealing to me. He hadn't questioned my abilities. On the contrary, he'd been the one to hone them. Thinking of Ranger made me sad all over again about the apparent end of our friendship.

"Will you forgive me, Cupcake?" Joe brought me out of my reverie over Ranger.

I nodded, still choked up. "Of course," I whispered.

Joe pulled into the parking lot of the same dive we'd visited on our date back in September. No sooner had he stopped the truck than he leaned across the console and put his hand on the back of my neck, drawing my lips against his.

"I owe you my thanks too," he spoke softly. "For everything you're doing to help me and my family. I love you."

"I love you too," I managed to get out, trying to blink back the moisture that had suddenly formed in my eyes again. _Damn, those freakin' hormones. Would they ever stop?_

After a brief but potent kiss, we climbed out of the truck, turned our collars up against the cold November evening and made our way into the hole in the wall. Just as it had all those weeks ago, the immediate and pungent smell of barbecue sauce hit my nostrils as soon as we walked into the dark restaurant.

Joe immediately went into cop mode as he scanned the nearly empty place. It was Monday night, typically a slow one for most restaurants, and evidently this joint was no exception. There were only about three other tables filled. Within moments a short, middle-aged woman with salt and pepper hair and a pair of oversized reading glasses perched upon her nose came up to greet us.

"Just the two of you?" she asked, leading us toward the same booth we'd shared on our date.

"Yeah," Joe replied easily.

As we slipped side-by-side into the booth, she handed us each a menu. "Special is beef brisket. I'll be back to take your drink orders in a minute."

Joe smiled. "Not that we don't appreciate you—" He glanced at her nametag, "Betty—but we were here last month and really enjoyed the waitress we had that night. We're wondering if she's working tonight, so we might say hello. Her name's Jessie."

Betty's eyes narrowed. "Jessie don't work here no more," she replied sourly.

"Oh?" My husband was doing his best to keep it casual. "That's too bad. She was a good waitress."

"_Hunh! _That's what you think. The stupid bitch stole two hundred dollars from the till last Wednesday night. My husband and I own the place, and let me tell you while two hundred may not seem like much to most folk—to two hard-working middle-class folk like us, it's practically a goddamned fortune."

"I'm sure it is," I hastened to agree. "We're sorry to hear that." I pretended to muse thoughtfully. "I wonder what would make a pretty young thing like Jessie want to steal?"

Betty harrumphed again. "Drugs—that's what! The stupid thing had already been on probation from my husband after he found her smoking a joint out in back of the restaurant on a break a couple of weeks ago. He thinks she might be a heroin user too—always had her arms covered—even when it was hotter than hell in this place."

She seemed to remember she was talking to customers and not friends for her posture stiffened, and she closed up. "I'll be back for your order in a minute." She hustled off before we could say anything else.

"Damn it, I was really hoping to talk with the girl," Joe shook his head in frustration.

"Yeah, but you have a great link already," I pointed out.

"You caught that too?" he noted admiringly. "If she was using drugs in Newark, there's a damn good chance the drugs were coming from Nagel, which is another link for us."

I couldn't resist playing devil's advocate. "Unless Paul is lying about their relationship having ended when Stampler blackmailed him into becoming an informant. Maybe he's hooked up with Meachum for real to distribute drugs. Perhaps he's been seeing Jessie and supplying her with product all along. I don't think so, but it's possible."

Steph was right. Anything was possible at this point, but I liked door number one better. If Nagel had been supplying Stampler's baby sister with drugs and Stampler had found out about it, it would easily have given him cause to want to see Nagel's operation destroyed—using any means necessary.

Betty came back with her pad. "I forgot to ask what you wanted to drink."

"I'll take a Corona," Joe responded.

"Water's fine," I said dispiritedly, trying not to feel sorry for myself for all the things I was being forced to give up these days. Instead I concentrated on the fact I was about to eat ribs—sweet, juicy ribs _filled _with nitrates.

"We'll go ahead and order too," Joe said. "I'll have the ribs. Steph?"

"Make it two orders."

Betty went off, and Joe shifted in the booth to block the view of the rest of the room much in the same way he had on our date. Reaching out to caress the skin near my ear, he said in a low rumble, "Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to keep my hands off of you when we were here on our date that night?"

Smiling, I teased back, "I seem to recall your hands were pretty busy that night—at least until the food came."

His mouth moved next to my ear to plant tiny kisses against my cheek. "So much has happened since then. Half the time I still can't believe we're actually married."

"And expecting two children," I added, a low groan escaping when his lips flirted around my mouth.

"Thank God for all three of you," he murmured. His lips danced across mine briefly. "I'd be miserable without you, Stephanie. Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm feeling better thanks to the Zofran, I—"

"I don't mean physically, although I'm glad you're not so sick. I mean are you feeling better about being pregnant in general—about being a wife and mother." He was still placing butterfly kisses all over my face.

I noticed he hadn't added homemaker to the list. _Thank God! _"I feel better knowing you've forgiven me, and we're connected again," I answered honestly, searching his eyes. "Because of your forgiveness—yes—I'm feeling better about being pregnant." I added almost shyly, "But it still shocks me I'm not only married to bad boy Joe Morelli, but I'm going to give him two babies at the same time too. Gilman is going to kill me the next time she sees me, you know."

"Think there'll be a cat fight?" he asked hopefully, comically widening his eyes.

"You wish!" I snorted out a laugh.

"No, I don't," he responded seriously again and took a moment to kiss me thoroughly. "I could give a rat's ass about Terri Gilman, Steph."

I couldn't help the 'cat-who-got-the-cream' smile that curved my lips. "I know. You're all mine, Morelli."

Joe's eyes darkened immediately. This time his kiss wasn't just thorough—it was overpoweringly hot and possessive. When we finally came up for air, he rasped, "I _am _yours—and you're mine. We need to hurry this up. I'm feeling a definite need to go home."

Betty reappeared soon with our dinners. While she set them down, Joe slouched further into the booth, trying to appear nonchalant again.

"My wife and I've been talking. We just can't get over the fact the young girl who waited on us last time was using drugs, as you say. It's depressing to think how easily young people are being lured into such a horrible mistake these days."

"_Hunh_!" Betty grunted. She was sounding more and more like Lula. "The girl ain't got a lick of sense in that pretty head of hers. "She worked here for about eight months. I didn't want to hire her to begin with—too young and foolish as far as I was concerned. But Al—that's my husband—he insisted the girl needed a break. He's friends with her brother—one of Newark's finest."

"Friends?"

"Well, friend—_ly _at least," she corrected herself. "Detective Stampler used to come in here for lunch quite a bit. He got to talking to Al about how he'd been taking care of his baby sister for about fifteen years now—raised her himself, he did. Said it'd been real tough to provide her with a stable home, considering how erratic his work schedule was and such. Guess Jessie got in with the wrong crowd in high school."

"It happens," I winced in sympathy, encouraging her to continue.

"_Hunh_! Not if you do your job as a parent, it don't. Raised four girls myself—and not a one of them ever had any trouble with drugs or premarital sex or none of that foolishness!"

"But Jessie did—I mean she did more than the drugs?"

Betty rolled her eyes. "The girl was a tramp I tell you! Practically every other day she had a different boy dropping her off or picking her up from her shifts. She even took up with some fellow old enough to be her father back about six or seven months ago. That's when I finally got fed up and called her brother. Told him she was seeing a man more than twice her age and to do something before that girl ended up pregnant. Told him I was going to fire her if she didn't start acting right!" She paused and looked more closely at Joe. "Come to think of it—you sort of look like the fellow she took up with. Can't remember his name for the life of me right now."

Joe and I exchanged a brief glance. So Stampler had found out about Paul and Jessie from our new friend Betty here.

Betty herself was on a roll. "After Brian got on the stick and disciplined her, Jessie flew right for a couple of months. But then she was back to her usual tricks—seeing a different boy a night and doing drugs. I tried counseling her, scolding her—you name it, but it didn't do a damn bit of good. Some kids just ain't worth the effort. Comes from not having a mother, I tell you!"

She suddenly stopped and stared at our full plates sitting in front of us. "Sorry about that. I get to going on sometimes when I'm upset."

"No problem," Joe assured her with another smile. "We asked. It's obvious Jessie took advantage of you."

"_Hunh!" _With that, Betty spun on her heel and marched back toward the kitchen.

"Let's leave our impressions for the car ride home," Joe suggested, glancing surreptitiously around the restaurant.

"You won't get an argument from me," I agreed. My eyes were already devouring what lay in front of me. "I've been dreaming about this all day. Steak salad and turnip greens have _nothing _on greasy ribs."

"Turnip greens?" Joe repeated disdainfully, turning up his nose.

"Full of iron," I mumbled over a mouthful of ribs. _Omigod—they were Nirvana!_

Joe was all seriousness again. "You keep finding new ways to amaze me, Cupcake. Imagine you _willingly _eating healthy food for such an extended period of time. Baby, you've earned every mouthful of those ribs. Enjoy 'em."

And I did—all of them, plus a sweet potato and three rolls. By the time I was done eating, I had to unsnap my jeans because my belly _looked _like I was going to immediately give birth. We were just finishing up, when the door to the restaurant opened and in walked Keith Chapman, Joe's friend from the NPD. I knew it was him immediately. Despite his boyish appearance—dark, curly hair and penetrating green eyes—he looked and acted like any other cop I'd ever known.

Joe stood and greeted him with an outstretched hand. "Keith—good to see you again, man."

"Joe," he grinned, revealing two enormous dimples. Shaking hands, he slid into the opposite side of the booth. "How the hell have you been, Morelli? Heard you had some trouble not too long ago. You okay now?"

"Yeah, I'm fine—better than fine actually. I'm doing great. I'd like you to meet my wife, Stephanie."

"Wife!" Keith's mouth dropped about a foot. "Holy shit—congratulations!" He immediately leaned across the table and bussed my cheek with a kiss. "I'm damn pleased to meet you, Stephanie. I didn't think anyone would be able to tame Morelli here."

"Oh, he's not tamed—believe me," I shook my head earnestly. "He's just as wild as ever."

"Wild enough to be having twins with Steph," Joe agreed, emitting a smug grin.

"Twins!" Keith's head fell back against the top of the booth. "Jesus Christ, Joe!"

"I know," he laughed. "We're still trying to wrap our minds around it too."

Betty appeared at that moment and noticed Keith. Her eyes narrowed speculatively as she acknowledged him, "Detective Chapman."

"Hey, Betty—I could use a piece of your pecan pie and a cup of coffee," Keith requested, flashing those dimples again.

She nodded stiffly and turned toward us. "Didn't know you were expecting company. I should have sensed it. You're a cop too, ain't you?" She didn't appear too happy we hadn't been more forthcoming with her.

Joe took her attitude in stride. "I am—in Trenton."

"And all those questions about Jessie were about the drugs, weren't they," she continued astutely and with obvious irritation.

I answered her. "They were about the drugs but also genuine concern. My husband and I aren't here to cause Jessie harm but to see if she links up with a related case of his back home."

That seemed to satisfy Betty—at least enough to get back to business. "You want pie too?" she motioned to both Joe and me.

My brain immediately shouted yes, but my full stomach disagreed loudly. Not wanting to have a repeat of the many days I'd spent in the bathroom of late, I shook my head. "I'm good."

Joe added, "Just coffee for me—thanks."

The three of us made small talk until she returned with the coffee and Keith's pie. I noticed we were the only ones left in the restaurant. As soon as Betty returned to the kitchen, Keith leaned back in the booth and said, "So what's up? I'm assuming this isn't just a 'we're in the neighborhood' kind of social call."

"You keep up much on the news in Trenton these days?" Joe asked out of the blue.

Keith tilted his head. "Not unless it's necessary. Why? What've I missed?"

"My brother Tony was arrested a week ago Friday night at a raid on a Meth House."

Chapman immediately tensed. "Jesus—I'm sorry to hear that, Joe."

"There's a lot more too it—which I may or may not feel inclined to share with you based upon how you answer my next few questions."

"_Okay_," Keith's posture grew a little stiffer.

"You still working homicide these days?"

"Yeah."

"You ever cross paths with Brian Stampler over in Vice?"

Keith's posture went stiffer and his voice became wary. It was time to protect a fellow officer. "At times—what's your beef with Stampler?"

"No beef necessarily," Joe motioned with his hand, deliberately taking a drink of coffee. "I've been working on a homicide case of my own. One of your drug dealers ended up dead in Stephanie's former apartment. Name's Louie Nagel. Ring a bell?"

"Everyone on the force knows Nagel and his operation. I heard he turned up dead, but I didn't know he was yours." He turned toward me, and I could see the slight suspicion developing in his eyes. "How'd you know him?"

"I didn't," I quickly offered. "Never even heard of him."

"Wait—" Keith closed his eyes. "I'm remembering something I heard a while back about Morelli here hooking up with a bounty hunter. Is that you?"

Somewhat embarrassedly, I nodded. "Yes, I used to be in bonds enforcement. I'm retired."

"At least until the babies are born," Joe quickly added.

Keith seemed to get a kick out of our exchange and gave me that boy-next-door grin again. "I don't get why Nagel was in your apartment unless it had something to do with one of your former skips."

And _I_ couldn't quite understand why Joe wasn't just laying out the whole story for Keith. Then again, he probably wasn't certain whom he could trust these days.

"In the course of our investigation, we found out Nagel's operation was linked to the group my brother was arrested with in Trenton—led by a guy named Jason Meachum. Heard of him?"

"No, but I'm strictly homicide. I don't deal with the Vice stuff much. I only know Nagel, because _everyone _in Newark knows of Louie Nagel. Hey, quit dancing around, Joe. What is it you're looking for from me?"

Joe ignored him. "How well do you know Stampler?"

Chapman's feathers were getting more ruffled with each question. "I don't know—not all that well, I guess. I've worked with him on a couple of cases. Truthfully, I try _not _to have to work with him whenever possible. The dude is a rules and procedures Nazi—drives the guys he works with nuts."

I gave a little pseudo wince, trying to diffuse the tension. "Ouch—that can't be fun. How do you know that?"

Keith's demeanor eased a fraction. "My best buddy works in Vice. He's always ragging about Stampler—how he's not a team player; he's always keeping tabs on the other cops in the division—stuff like that. Again, I ask why so much interest in Stampler?"

Again Joe danced around the question. "Any way you could hook me up with your buddy in Vice?"

"Not unless you tell me what the fuck is going on. I'm not getting the idea here you want to ask Stampler over to play poker or something. Why are you so interested in him?" Chapman was _all _cop now.

Joe assessed his counterpart more closely. "I need your help," he said simply.

Chapman relaxed only slightly. "Okay, no more bullshit—talk."

And Joe did. He told the entire story from beginning to end—about Tony's arrest, about Paul's affair with Jessie Stampler and big brother Brian's 'request' he become an informant for Newark, about the suitcase, about Nagel's death in my apartment, about the revelation from Rogers that Myra Flowers was a Narc for Trenton, about Bulldog and Meachum searching for his brothers—about everything.

After he'd laid it all out, we all sat in silence for several minutes while Keith thought things through.

He finally grimaced and began, "Joe—"

"I know," Joe interrupted, letting out a huff of frustration. "I've got nothing solid—nothing but my brother Paul's word that everything went down exactly as he said. I need to find out if Newark was aware of what Stampler was doing. Did they tell him to bring Paul in? Did the whole department deliberately cross jurisdictions without talking to Trenton first? Or was this all Stampler's doing—"

"Or is your brother feeding you the biggest line of bullshit ever, and you're being duped by family loyalty," Keith interjected pointedly. "Come on, Morelli—which makes the most sense. You're a cop! You've done Vice in the past. You know how drug dealers would lie to God Himself if it would save their asses."

"Of course he knows that," I broke in angrily. "But you've worked with my husband. You know how freakin' smart he is. Doesn't that tell you something too?"

Keith chewed on his lip for a minute. "What do you want from me?" he finally asked Joe.

Joe let out another breath. "I need to find out about Stampler's association with the Nagel case without starting an inter-jurisdictional feud unless it becomes necessary. My gut's telling me Stampler initiated all of this on his own, because _my _chief, Brett Rogers, has told me _your _chief Bud Reynolds runs a clean house."

Keith nodded. "Absolutely he does," he agreed loyally. "I should be telling you to go to hell for even hinting that something's off in my precinct."

"But—" I jumped in again. I could smell that Chapman was holding something back.

He gave me a slight acknowledgment with his head, similar to what Ranger would have done. Did these guys all go to school somewhere to learn how to give barely perceptible communication? _Good grief! _

"But I _have _heard enough complaints about Stampler from my buddy in vice that I'm willing to talk with him. If he thinks there's anything worth exploring, I'll see about getting the two of you together. Otherwise, you're SOL, Joe—sorry."

"Fair enough," Joe replied evenly. "Thanks Keith."

"Don't thank me yet," he warned. "Newark may end up kicking your ass for hinting we're overstepping our boundaries." He stood and gave Joe a look. "Pie's on you, Morelli."

"As long as it's not on my face, it's all good," Joe retorted, reaching for the check.

"It was nice to meet you, Stephanie," Chapman spoke to me, a smile returning to his eyes. "Keep your eye on this one," he warned jokingly. To Joe, he added, "I'll be in touch."

"Sounds good."

Betty was waiting for us at the cash register when we went up to pay our bill.

"You could have told me you were a cop," she groused, punching the keys on the register a little more forcefully than necessary.

"You're right," Joe agreed simply. "Hope you won't hold it against me I didn't. Your ribs are the best, and I hope to be allowed back in here again when the urge strikes me to drive to Newark."

She tried to hide her smile at his charm. "Oh—" she grumbled, "I guess no harm was done." Her face and tone both softened. "Truth is I'm worried about the girl. I haven't heard hide nor hair of her since she stole that money from the till last week and took off."

"Would that be unusual?" I asked curiously. "I mean she did steal from you. Wouldn't it make sense she would stay out of your radar?"

"Perhaps," Betty granted, "but knowing her like I do, I think she would've been more apt to have come back to work and deny taking the money. It's strange she didn't even come back for her final paycheck—nothing."

Joe and I shared a look. "Thanks Betty—for a great meal and the information," he said.

No sooner were we out the door than Joe had his cell phone out. "I've got to call Keith and tell him to check into whether Jessie can be located at Stampler's house or not. If she's missing, that may be something we need to investigate—especially if Stampler hasn't _told_ anyone she's missing."

Moments later we were idling in the car with the heater running. Joe was speaking in low tones with Keith Chapman when _my _cell phone rang from the depths of my bag. Fumbling around in the dark, I finally found the thing buried in a side pocket.

"Hello?" I greeted breathlessly, not even bothering to check the Caller ID in the dark.

"You really want to have lunch with me? Or are you feeling guilty, and this is some sort of pity gathering."

_Ranger._

"I'm trying not to say things I don't mean any longer," I replied as calmly as possible, but there was no covering the slight shake in my voice.

"And your _husband _is really okay with this lunch deal?" he asked barely able to hold back his disdain.

I could hear Joe finishing up his call with Keith beside me.

"Yes."

"Fine. Meet me at Rossini's—Noon sharp. My rules—my turf—we'll give it _one_ try."

Clearing my throat, I said a little more confidently. "Sounds like a plan. See you then."

"Later, Eliza."

I tossed the phone back into my bag and turned to see Joe watching me in the glow being cast from the light posts in the parking lot. "Manoso?" he assumed.

"We're going to try lunch," I offered, deliberately taking a slow breath to keep myself collected.

Joe studied me for another brief moment and then gave a single nod. "Okay."

_God, I could only hope it WAS okay. _


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Thanks, Julie dear, for continuing to provide me with such excellent advice, research and feedback. What the heck would I do without that Kindle of yours?

Continued thanks to all those who are faithfully reading, including any new readers and those to whom I can't thank personally.

For those who may be tired of hearing the plot line explained repeatedly, I apologize, but I've had a number of people express in PM's that it is confusing. So...you will hear it explained one last time in this chapter, and then it's onward and upward. There's lots of other things happening here too. We have layer upon layer of "stuff". Where the heck are we going with all this? LOL! Have a good week, folks.

* * *

Chapter Five

**Joe's POV**

"_Come on, Joey—you can do it!"_

"_Don't let go, Tony! You promised. You promised you wouldn't let go!"_

"_I'm not holding on anymore. You're doing it by yourself now. You're doing it!"_

_Faster and faster my little legs pedaled, racing down the street on the brand new Huffy bicycle I'd received for my fifth birthday three weeks ago from my parents. _

"_I'm doing it, Tony! Are you watching? Paulie! Can you see me? Watch me! Watch me!_

"_I see you, Joey," Paul called out his encouragement from where he stood next to the driveway smoking a cigarette. "Looking good, kid."_

"_I'm doing it!" I screamed, relishing the rush of the cool March air as it kissed my cheeks while I flew._

_The scene shifted in my subconscious._

"_Atta boy, Joey—keep your eye on the ball, buddy. No hurry now—just wait for your pitch._

_In the back of my mind, I knew it was Tony calling to me from the stands. Paulie was probably up there too. I bet they had a couple of stupid girls plastered all over them—ha! They were so cool. I bet the old man wasn't up there though. I heard Tony say he'd been on something called a bender lately. I wasn't sure, but I think that meant he was too drunk to worry about some seven-year old kid playing coach pitch baseball. He was always drunk. Who cared if the other boys on the team all had THEIR fathers there? I had TWO big brothers—and BOTH of them had come to watch me play._

_My cousin Mooch was standing on second base. He gave me his shit-eater grin and motioned for me to smack the ball over the fence. Yeah right. Let's not get crazy there, cuz. I'd be lucky if I hit it past where he was standing. But next year? Yeah—next year I was going to smack it clear over to Newark. I'd be so good they'd be scouting me for the big leagues by the time I was twelve. Who cared if my old man never made it to a game? I had Tony and Paul, right?_

_Coach Seidler tossed me a soft one, and I swung the bat hard. SMACK! The sound of wood cracking against the ball sent a zing up my arms. _

"_Run, Joey!" That was Paulie. Tony wasn't far behind. "Run your ass off, little brother!"_

_I ran like my father was chasing me—just like in my dreams. I ran all the way to where Mooch had been standing a moment ago. Now he was standing on home plate with that same damn grin on his face. Looking up into the stands, I found Tony and Paul standing side-by-side waving their arms like crazy at me. Tony cupped his hands over his mouth. "Way to go, Joey!" _

_Yeah. Who needed a father when you had two big brothers like Tony and Paul?_

_Again the scene shifted._

_Why was everyone crying all the time—Ma, Grandma Bella, all my aunts and uncles? Cry—cry—cry—that's all anyone had done for the past three days—everyone that is except for my brothers and sisters and me. Why would any of us cry? We were GLAD he was gone. He WAS gone too—dead—never to chase me again in my dreams or in reality. I finally felt like I could breathe—like I'd just emerged from an underground mine or something, and I was inhaling fresh air for the first time in my life._

_Tony came over to where I was sitting on the couch, eating a plateful of potato chips. Nobody had stopped me when I'd loaded them onto my plate from the buffet table. He plopped down next to me, and I could smell the beer on his breath. But I didn't mind. Tony wasn't like my father. He could hold his liquor. Yeah—he wasn't anything like my old man—the one who drank and swore and hit and pushed people around. My father was dead now._

_Tony swung an arm around my shoulder. "Doing okay, Joey?"_

"_Why wouldn't I be?" I asked defensively._

"_No reason. Just thought maybe you'd be kind of sad. Death is hard to understand at any age, but especially when you're eight years old. Are you scared?"_

"_I ain't scared of nothing," I denied hotly. "I'm GLAD he's dead. You are too, right Tony? You and Paulie are glad he's dead too. No more hitting. Everything's gonna be okay now. Ma's sad, but she'll get over it, right? You're gonna take care of her now too, huh Tony? You and Paulie?"_

_Tony closed his eyes briefly. "That's right, Joey," he answered softly. "I'm going to take care of you—and Ma—just like I always have." He took another swallow of beer, and I relaxed against his arm._

"_Tony?"_

"_Yeah, buddy?"_

"_Why'd you let Dad hit you so much?"_

_His body got all stiff-like next to me for a second, and then he relaxed again. "It's nothing for you to worry about. You let me worry about things, okay? Just remember I'll always be here for you, Joey. I'll always be looking out for you—always taking care of you. Do you believe me?"_

"_Sure I do!" I grinned. "You and Paulie are always taking care of me, but I don't understand things sometimes. I don't understand why Dad was always sneaking into the girls' room—"_

"_And you don't need to know," he interrupted forcefully. "You leave things to me, Joey. Everything's going to be different now. Got that?"_

"_Yeah, but I don't get why Dad did those things. I don't get why he's dead. Is it because I—"_

_Tony wrapped his free hand over my mouth. "NO! It's not because of anything other than the fact he was a mean, son of a bitch. You got that? You remember NOTHING else but that, Joey! Nothing!_

_His hand over my mouth scared me, until he finally released it. But why should I be scared of Tony? He'd never hurt me. _

"_Whatever you say, Tony?" I grinned again. "You're the best big brother ever!"_

"_And you're going to be the BEST Morelli ever, little brother."_

* * *

I shot up in bed, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. _Shit. _It was the dream again—the same fucking one that had haunted me for the past five nights. Like an old-time movie reel the same images kept shuttering through my brain, reminding me of what my brothers had once meant to me. And something more—something else was floating on the periphery of my subconscious I couldn't quite grab onto. It was still lost out there in the dark. What the hell was it?

Searching for the clock, I groaned softly when I saw it was six o'clock in the morning.

"Joe?" Stephanie placed her hand against the bare skin of my back. "What's wrong?"

I tried to swallow over the parched feeling in my throat. "Nothing, Cupcake. I'm fine. Just a dream." I hadn't told her I'd been having the same dream over and over again or about how often I'd been getting up in the night to sleep on the couch in order for her to get the rest she needed. She hadn't noticed too often thanks to how tired the Zofran and the pregnancy both made her.

"Must have been a bad one," she guessed softly, her voice still raspy from sleep.

Scrubbing my hands over my eyes, I slid back down next to my wife and wrapped my body around her warm frame.

"You're freezing," she observed in concern. She was more alert now. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I've just been having some flashbacks lately. Sometimes they aren't pretty."

She didn't respond. Part of me wanted to take advantage of the fact and simply lose myself in sleep for another few minutes before the alarm went off. The other part knew she deserved the same honesty from me as I expected from her.

"I've been dreaming a lot about my brothers the past several nights," I admitted finally.

"What kind of dreams?"

"Mostly memories of my childhood. Images of Tony and Paul teaching me how to ride a bike, coming to ball games, taking me to school, helping me with homework, telling me they'd take care of me after my father died—stuff like that."

She was silent again for a long time. "I didn't realize how involved they were in raising you."

Shame washed over me as I answered, "I've allowed myself to forget as well. I've been wrestling so much with my anger over what they've become in recent years, I haven't remembered all they once meant to me—once did for me—I think maybe even once sacrificed for me."

"You didn't forget," she argued quietly. "Your subconscious has been reminding you all along. It's why you're fighting so hard for them now even when common sense says you shouldn't. It must have been hard to watch your two childhood heroes deteriorate in front of your eyes.

I wanted to deny it. I wanted to pretend I didn't care, but I did. My anger over the choices they'd made warred with the love and gratitude I felt for my big brothers. She was right—they had been my heroes.

"I _have _to believe they're telling me the truth, Steph—even if it seems foolish on my part. Can you understand that?" I stroked the soft skin of her stomach in an almost absent-minded caress while we talked. It always amazed me how merely touching her could calm me down.

I felt her head nod against my cheek. Without saying a word, she quickly shed her panties and the over-sized t-shirt of mine she was wearing and made a move to roll me on top of her.

I tried to pull back. "We don't need—"

"Shut up, Morelli," she teased gently, while wrapping her hand around my rapidly growing erection. "This is for me as much as you. Don't you know everyone needs a little comfort after a bad dream?"

With that, she guided me inside the warm, wet heat that was the very essence of Stephanie to me—because it was exactly what she'd said and so much more. It was comfort, yes, but it was also passion and an almost crazed obsession to be connected with her both mentally and physically.

She shifted slightly, and I slid in even deeper. Her appreciative moan made my heart race, and I had to restrain myself from going too fast too soon. It was like that for me all the time with her. She was just so damn responsive to everything I did, and made me feel like I was some kind of fucking sex god or something.

Her hands were on my shoulders, kneading the muscles there as she moved reflexively beneath me. In the early morning glow that was the changeover from moon to sun, I saw her eyes were shut, her neck arched and her mouth slightly open. With her curls going every which way, she reminded me of my very own goddess, presenting herself like an offering for me to love her.

God, if she only knew how much I _did _love her—of how fucking infatuated I'd been with her since we were kids. I'd run as hard and as fast as I could away from her the night I'd taken her virginity all those years ago. What an asshole I'd been to her that night! There simply was no excuse for having left her, but truth was her innocence and willingness to love me had scared me to death. I hadn't deserved her love then. Sometimes I still wondered if I deserved it now. But I did know I'd do everything I could to never have her regret choosing me.

Leaning down, I gently cupped one of her swollen breasts in my hands, mindful of how sensitive they were right now. While I wasn't complaining about the added size and weight brought on by pregnancy, I actually loved Stephanie's breasts the way they normally were. I loved everything about _her_—the good and the frustrating. The fact she felt the same way about me was nothing short of miraculous in my mind.

Still moving slowly inside of her, I began to trace her nipple with my tongue, drawing yet another approving sound from her throat.

"Uunnn…" she sighed. "That feels so good. Don't stop."

Releasing one shoulder, she slid the tips of her fingers down across my torso to brush over my own nipple. Instantly, my cock responded, feeling even more engorged than before. How did she do this to me _every _damn time? My hips moved a little faster, and she slid her other hand off my shoulder down to my lower back, urging me on.

I kissed my way up over the tops of her breasts, across her neck and breathed against her lips, "I love you, Stephanie."

"I love you too," she pledged, arching her back beneath me.

Our bodies were on autopilot now, both of us striving for the same mystical fulfillment hanging out there on the fringe—just like in my dream. I tried to maintain the slow, languid pace in which we'd started, but it was impossible—not when she was impelling me with her own hands and mouth.

"Now," she suddenly keened, grinding up against my pelvis. "Oh God—now, Joe!"

Then there was nothing but convulsing warmth and wetness between us both.

Breathing heavily, I rolled slightly to the side, so as not to crush her. "You still scare me, Cupcake," I spoke without thinking.

"What?" she asked in confusion. She was dazed by our encounter and hadn't been privy to the thoughts swirling in my brain.

Shaking my head slightly to clear it, I shrugged slightly. "Nothing—I'm sorry."

"No, what do you mean I _scare_ you?" she demanded.

"I was just thinking back to how I felt the first time I made love to you all those years ago," I confessed somewhat embarrassedly. "I've told you how scared I was by my feelings afterward. Sometimes I still feel overwhelmed by how much I love you."

"Is that all?" she feigned boredom. The amount of light in our room had increased, and her smile was clearly visible. "I guess I'm scared too then. Lucky us, huh?"

I smiled back. "Yeah. Lucky us."

Another glance at the clock had me grimacing. "I have to get up."

"I know," she nodded and added with a little smirk, "I don't."

"Smart ass." I gave her bottom a little tap that was really more of a caress. "Get some sleep." I moved to slip out of the bed, but at the last minute turned back, "I hope your lunch goes well today. Where you two going anyway?"

"Rossini's."

My stomach lurched. _Great._ _Naturally he'd pick one of the nicest—most expensive places in town. _Reminding myself I'd done my fair share of pushing this attempt at a friendship, I tried to keep any insecurity out of my voice. "Nice. Do me a favor and run up his bill, will you?"

Stephanie snorted predictably. "I'll order at least ten desserts in your name." Her face turned serious. "I'm not too proud to tell you I'm nervous about this whole deal."

"Just be you," I advised. "If there's something left to salvage as a friendship, it needs to happen with the real Stephanie—nothing less."

"As opposed to the fake Stephanie?" she narrowed her eyes.

"Yeah—you know—the Stephanie who thinks she's incapable or who hides behind sarcastic, self-inflicted put downs—_that _Stephanie."

"Oh—her," she said in a glum voice.

I laughed and leaned in to give her one more kiss for encouragement and maybe a little bit of selfish possessiveness too. "I love you. Talk with you later, okay?"

She wrapped her arms around my neck and clung for just a second. "Love you too. Thanks for the pep talk."

"Get some sleep, Cupcake."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

I pulled into the parking lot of Rossini's at Noon sharp feeling pretty good about the fact I was on time for once in my life where Ranger was concerned. Hopping out of the SUV, I immediately wished I'd brought a heavier coat. November had definitely arrived in Trenton—where one day it could be sixty degrees and the next forty. Today was closer to the forty-degree mark, with a biting wind, and I wasted no time in hustling inside the restaurant.

I'd been to Rossini's several times in my life and once before with Ranger back fairly early in our association. Their gourmet food was excellent, and while I loved to splurge on this kind of fare once in awhile, I mostly preferred the every day kinds of meals Joe and I had together. I wasn't about to waste the opportunity to 'live like no other' however, and had come ready to eat thanks to another dose of the Zofran.

As expected, Ranger was waiting for me in the lobby, standing perfectly straight, but not leaning, against the wall. Wearing black trousers, a midnight blue silk shirt and a tie of the same color, he looked handsome and confident. I couldn't help but compare the fact if it were Joe waiting for me; he'd be leaning against the wall, slouched, with his hands in a pair of blue jeans and wearing a leather jacket. And yet he'd also be looking handsome and confident. No question they were two Alpha males with completely different personalities, but there were common threads as well. Regardless, I was glad I'd chosen to dress neutrally in a pair of gray dress slacks with a pink, angora sweater set my mother had given to me for Christmas a few years ago. It wouldn't be long before I'd have to set most of my clothes aside. I couldn't believe how quickly my belly was beginning to feel bloated.

Taking one last deep breath to steady my nerves, I made my way over and greeted Ranger with a smile. "Hey—I'm on time."

One corner of his mouth rose in amusement. "So you are. And they say miracles don't happen any longer."

"I'm also starving, so I hope you're ready to eat."

A shadow passed through Ranger's eyes briefly, but was quickly masked. "Glad to see your appetite is coming back. The Zofran must be working."

_And there we went—straight to Awkwardsville. _"Yeah, talk about miracles—it's like the wonder of wonder drugs."

The hostess came then and led us through the restaurant to a quiet booth in the back. I automatically moved to the side that would allow Ranger to survey the room. As we were seated, he smiled his thanks at my perceptiveness. The hostess handed each of us a menu.

"Would either of you care for a glass of wine or a drink from the bar?"

"No thanks. Iced tea for me, please," I responded.

"Water's fine," Ranger gave a single nod.

"Very well," she replied. "Arturo will be with you momentarily then."

She walked away, and Ranger leaned back, eyeing me closely. "Let's go ahead and get the elephant out of the room, okay?"

"Okay?" I parroted uncertainly.

"I know about the twins," he announced rather grimly. It looked like it took everything in him to choke out the rest. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." I was practically breathless, completely at a loss of what else to say.

Arturo brought us our drinks and notified us of the specials. I ordered the pasta with scallops, while Ranger ordered a salad with a piece of blackened Salmon on top.

There was a pause after Arturo's departure neither of us knew how to fill. Finally Ranger asked, "Are you excited?"

"About?"

"Having twins."

"Oh!" He'd taken me by surprise going back to our original topic. "Yes—well sort of I guess—I don't know."

The amused lip curl was back again. "Can you vague that up for me anymore?"

"Yes, I'm excited. I'm just scared to death—that's all."

His gaze grew concerned. "Is everything okay? Dr. Hamilton had said he was concerned about some things."

"Evidently I have a smaller than normal uterus, which means I'll more than likely deliver earlier than normal." I swallowed hard. The thought of what lay ahead never ceased to frighten me.

"Is it okay for you to be out and about like this?"

I nodded. "As long as I don't overdo anything, I'm fine, but it did put the kibosh on me working at all until after I have the babies come."

Ranger was studying me. "Do you _really _believe you're going back to work, Stephanie?"

My face flushed slightly. "That's the plan—at least in Joe's mind. I have no idea how we're going to afford daycare for two infants, but he's bound and determined I go back to work if I want."

"Chasing skips?" his eyebrows were up, his voice clearly doubtful.

"If I wanted to—yes," I confirmed, "but I don't really want to go back to bounty hunting. I was tired of the chase long before I got married or pregnant. That last business with Razzle Dazzle, the photograph and then taking down The Rug did me in, Ranger. The thrill of it all is just gone, although I do miss Connie and Lula terribly and the bonds office in general—minus Vinnie of course."

"What do you think you might like to do instead?" He seemed genuinely interested.

I shrugged, settling into my side of the booth more comfortably. Somehow we'd eased into a safe topic, and I could feel myself beginning to relax bit by bit. "I haven't a clue. I definitely don't want retail again, and I'm not really the secretarial sort either."

"You could work for Rangeman," he suggested softly. "You did good work for me before."

A genuine smile spread across my face. "Thank you for that—and for the offer—but I'm not really cut out for computer searches all day either." One look at his face had me adding, "I know—I'm being awfully picky for someone without a job."

"What do _you_ think your skills are?"

I thought for a moment. "I think I'm good at reading people and situations. I'm efficient when necessary and creative. I think outside of the box—I don't know—stuff like that. What do you think I'd make?"

"A good manager," he replied promptly.

"Really?" My eyebrows went up this time. "Of what?"

"I don't know, but to manage something you have to be all of those things you described. You'd need some classes probably to supplement your God-given skills, but I could see you being in charge of something."

I opened my mouth reflexively to make some sort of sarcastic retort to deflect the praise, when Joe's comment came to mind. Instead, I said sincerely, "Thanks. I'll have to think some more about it. So what are you up to these days at Rangeman?"

Where Ranger's face had been almost open and expressive throughout our conversation a moment ago, now the mask was firmly back in place. "Not much."

Arturo chose that moment to bring us our food. After he'd left and I'd taken a bite of the delicious entrée before me, I glared at my former mentor.

He looked almost taken aback. "What? Obviously I chose the wrong response."

"If this friendship business is going to work at all, you can't hide either!"

"Hide?"

"Hide! Joe told me this morning I couldn't hide behind self-deprecation and sarcasm if I wanted to have a real friendship with you, and I'm trying not to do either of those things here. But that means you have to stop hiding behind the "man of mystery" crap you're always throwing at me. I didn't ask you to tell me your deepest, darkest secrets, Ranger. I asked how things were going with your friggin' job!" _Whew! _I had to take a breath. Who knew I was carrying so much animosity toward his silence all of these years.

Ranger was clearly stunned. "Your _husband _told you not to hide from _me_?"

"Yes!" I snapped back. "Now I'm playing by the rules here. You better damn well start talking to me, or this is never going to work." I shoved another bite of food into my mouth and chewed viciously.

"Why would Morelli need to tell you how to act with me?"

"Oh get over it already! He's not trying to control me if that's what you're driving at. He knew I was nervous about meeting you today, and he was trying to encourage me to be myself. Well, this is me, Ranger—all hormonal, non-sarcastic, non-self-deprecating, bitchy me. So TELL me about your job before I hurt you!"

If I'd been with any other man besides Ranger or Joe, I think he would've been looking downright scared at this point. But seeing as it _was _Ranger, he merely continued to stare.

"Everything at Rangeman is going well. Thanks for asking."

I raised my fork to stab him when he held his hand up to cut me off. "We're busy—busier than I've ever been. Working on security during that mess with Kennard really elevated our profile here locally. My other locations are doing well too, and I have a new opportunity that's presented itself in Miami." He paused briefly. "I'll be flying down there soon to see about developing that prospect."

"Well…okay then," I slowly lowered the fork back to the tablecloth. "That was good. Well done."

He rolled his eyes. "This isn't easy for me, Stephanie."

"And you think it is for me?" I asked incredulously. "I'm practically sitting in a pool of sweat over here."

"Yes, but you're the one who got it all. I'm settling for leftovers."

_Ouch. _That hurt, but I supposed it was an honest answer, and we did need honesty if we were going to be able to move forward.

"Ranger, I _am _sorry about everything that's happened between you and me—and with the three of us as well. And I know you find it hard to believe, but it's truthfully bothered Joe a lot too. I want to be your friend if you'll allow me to. I think you have so much inside of you that's funny and interesting and worthy of being told, but you hold yourself back _all _the time—"

"I have to," Ranger cut me off. "You don't understand—"

"No one understands, because you won't allow us to understand." I forced myself to take another bite even though my stomach was getting upset over our argument. "I find it hard to believe your past is so horrible that to share _anything _with me is going to get me killed. Come on!"

"You have no idea—"

"At least give me _something. _What's happening here right now was a huge factor in my decision to marry Joe. I would have chosen him regardless, because I truly am in love with him, but this constant secrecy of yours drives me nuts! I'll admit it was intriguing and exciting at first and a major turn-on, but after awhile it became almost a turn-off. How can you have a relationship with someone who only gives you one dimension of himself?"

He was looking perturbed. _Well good! _I wanted him perturbed. I wanted him to feel something—even if it was anger. "Stephanie—"

"No—don't brush me off again. Give me _something. _Tell me this, besides Tank have you ever had someone you could be honest with?"

Ranger's eyes sparked with anger. "Why can't you just accept things for what they are? Why do you always have to push and poke and prod all the goddamned time!"

I held my arms out. "This is the real me, Ranger—not intimidated Stephanie or enamored Stephanie or confused Stephanie. Why can't you answer my question?"

I was being a total bitch here, and it couldn't all be blamed on hormones. I had no idea I'd held so much anger toward the way Ranger had closed himself off from me and everyone else in his life. I may be walking out the door of the restaurant today without a friend, but I'd at least have the satisfaction of knowing I'd showed him the real me—not some helpless mentee.

He was quiet so long I thought for sure he was thinking of how to tell me to go to hell. It took everything I had to remain quiet until he said in a low undertone, "My past work for the military and the government is what keeps me from developing close relationships. There are things I've done that are still left unfinished in the eyes of some. I may have moved on, but they haven't necessarily."

"I know some of this already, and I'm not asking you to reveal secrets that _could _cause you or me harm, but isn't there anything you can share about who you really are? You already know so much about me."

"You already know more about me than most people do, Stephanie. You don't realize how much access I gave you."

_That was it? _It made me sad to know he felt the tidbits he'd given me here and there were access to his heart. He'd obviously been protecting himself for so long he'd forgotten what true access was really like.

"You know about my immediate family, about my daughter, about—"

"And I appreciate those things—I really do, but I know the data—not how you _feel_."

"I'm not your _girl-_friend. I'm a guy. We don't do feelings."

"Cop out!" I shook my head. "Give me something today—right now, Ranger. I want one thing to show me you're serious about wanting to be my friend too, and then I'll drop it. I promise."

Again, he fell silent. While I waited, I quickly made my way through the rest of my meal.

"Alright, I'll give you something," he finally said almost begrudgingly, "but first you have to answer _my _question."

"Shoot."

"Why is Morelli pushing so hard for us to be friends. The guy hates my guts."

"No he doesn't. And you don't hate his either."

"Yeah—I do. I _really _do."

"You think you do because of all the bullshit I put you _both _through, but there's a hell of a lot of respect on both your parts for each other. To answer your question though, he's pushing because of all the reasons he gave you last Friday at Dr. Hamilton's office. He was telling you the truth that day."

"He _told _you what he said to me?"

"He didn't have to," I admitted a little sheepishly. "I was listening around the corner."

A short bark of laughter came out of Ranger's mouth before he could stop it. "I should've known!"

I put my palms up in a peace gesture. "What can I say? It's the real me."

"And you think Morelli's really okay with this?"

"Yes. He knows I respect and admire you, and that I care about you very much. He knows I'd be sad if you weren't a part of my life any longer. And I would be," I finished truthfully, pushing my plate aside. "The question is—can you live with the knowledge I'm another man's wife, and can you accept only being my friend?"

"I don't know," he answered, his jaw set. "I'm trying, but it's hard. This is the second time in my life I've opened my heart to a woman only to have it blown to pieces."

"The second time," I repeated slowly. "Rachel?"

He paused, looked me in the eye and shook his head slowly. "Not Rachel."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Tell me why we're doing this again?" Rodriguez asked. He and I had been working homicide together since I joined the unit a couple of years ago.

Together with Stumpy Davis—the three of us were standing in the elevator of Stephanie's old apartment building.

"I told you. This Nagel case is going nowhere fast. I want to go back in there with fresh eyes and fresh opinions.

"You don't trust our own people now?" Rodriguez countered, trying hard to poke at me in front of the new guy.

The elevator opened, and ignoring him, I strode down the hallway to the door I'd visited countless times in the past three years. Seeing it automatically made me think of Stephanie, and I wondered how things were going between her and Manoso at lunch. _Hopefully she was on her tenth dessert by now._

I quickly removed the crime scene tape plastered to the metal entrance. Using my own key to unlock the place, the three of us stepped inside, and once again my heart missed a beat as I took in the damage to the apartment. Even though Stephanie no longer lived there, it still pissed me off to know someone had invaded her home like this; especially knowing the haven it had always provided her. _Thank God she hadn't been there packing a week ago when this had happened_. Swallowing back the sense of fear I had over the safety of my wife and our children, I turned to the other two detectives.

I handed each a pair of gloves. "Spread out, and let's take another look—see if the techs missed anything when they were here."

Rodriguez took the living room; I took the kitchen and Stumpy immediately went down the hallway to the bedroom. _Good_. I wanted the new guy in the room where we'd found Nagel. Somehow I knew his eyes were going to be the most important today.

Fifteen minutes later, I was picking my way through the kitchen cupboards when Stumpy called out, "Morelli, better come take a look."

Rodriguez looked over from where he was investigating the couch. Raising his eyebrows in question at me, he jerked his head toward the bedroom. "Let's see what the kid found."

In the bedroom, Stumpy was on the floor with this head beneath the bed.

"What's up, Davis?" I asked calmly from the doorway.

He pulled back and looked up at me. "Underneath the bed. I found a watch. Thought maybe you could identify it."

"You've got gloves on," I said. "Go ahead and pull it out."

Stumpy reached underneath the bed skirt again, this time pulling out a man's watch. How pathetic the situation had become I actually hoped it would belong to Ranger. It had a silver band with a black face and Roman numeral lettering, and as soon as I laid eyes on it I knew I'd seen that particular watch a million times growing up—first on my father's wrist and then on Paul's. It had gone to Tony after my father's death, but he'd wanted nothing to do with it. Neither of us had ever understood why Paulie had chosen to wear it.

_Jesus! _Digging my fingers into my palms, I kept my expression neutral, but inside I was torn in half. What the fuck was my father's watch doing there at the scene of Nagel's death?

"You recognize this?" Davis asked, holding the watch out. "I figured it might be yours."

I hated myself for one brief second—for allowing the idea into my brain of saying it _was _mine in order to clear Paul's name. My mouth opened to accept responsibility, but instead I said, "It's not mine, but it was my father's. It belongs to my brother Paul now."

Rodriguez pivoted his head sharply to look at me. Whether it was out of shock or admiration I'd told the truth I didn't know, nor did I care. My only thought was wondering if my brother was duping me. Or was he being framed?

One thing was for certain. Paul and Tony were in more danger than ever. They needed to be found immediately.

"Tag and bag it for me, will you?" I instructed the two of them. "I need to make a phone call."

"No problem," Davis nodded, eyeing me closely. "Your honesty is certainly noted here, Detective."

His praise went right over the top of my head. My mind was fixed on one thing only. I went clear out into the hallway before pushing the speed dial on my phone.

"Joe?" Stephanie's voice was low and uncertain. They were obviously still at the restaurant.

"Yeah, it's me, Cupcake. Sorry to interrupt lunch, but I need to talk with Manoso."

"What's happened?"

"I'll tell you later—I promise, but I need to make this fast. Can you try and put him on for me?"

I could hear their exchange through the receiver.

"It's Joe."

"Calling to check up on you?"

"Uh—no. He wants to talk with _you _actually."

"I'm not interested."

_Come on. Come on, asshole. Just pick up the damn phone and talk with me already._

"Can't you at least see what he wants?"

"I _know _what he wants, and the answer is no!"

"Just listen to him!"

She must have thrust the phone at him, because the next thing I heard was heavy breathing coming through the receiver. _Five seconds, ten seconds, twenty—_

"What?"

"I'm through with the hoop jumping," I said brusquely. "Name your price."

"No price. I'm not available and certainly not interested."

"Manoso, this is a legitimate business request. Get your head out of your ass and quit making this personal. If you don't want to do it, give me one of your best instead."

"I'm no longer a bounty hunter—"

"Bullshit, you're whatever you want to be!" I exploded. _Shit. Calm down, Morelli. _Taking a deep breath, I evened out my tone. "Listen, I know you don't care about me, and that's just fine. But what if I tell you the longer this Bulldog character and Jason Meachum are both allowed to roam free and gunning for my brothers, the more the likelihood Stephanie and the babies' lives are in danger as well."

I heard Ranger hesitate before saying, "That really isn't my concern any longer. She's _your _wife."

"Oh for Christ's sake, could we both just stop with this constant bullshit? It's over and done. Yes, she married me—yes, she's having my children. I know that pisses you off, and I don't blame you. But give me a fucking break here; I'm trying to accept the fact she needs you in her life as well!" My voice was sounding more Jersey by the minute.

"You've got a lot of gall, Morelli—"

"Yes, I do! I have a lot of everything right now, Ranger, because you have no idea what the fuck I'm up against here. Listen, the bottom line is we're all adults. All three of us made mistakes. All three of us have been hurt in some way. But the reality is we all need each other too. Right now I need you in a professional capacity. Down the line you may need _me _in a professional capacity, and don't you dare try and deny it helps to have a cop who's friendly toward you. Steph was right we've never been friends, but we've been able to have a mutual respect for one another's professional abilities, and that's what I need right now—your _professional _ability."

"What's he saying?" I could hear Stephanie whispering frantically in the background.

There was a long pause while Ranger seemed to be mulling over what I said. _At least he hadn't hung up on me._

"What's the situation?"

All the air I'd been holding came out in a whoosh. _Finally!_

"Have Stephanie tell you the whole story. Tell her I'm at her apartment right now. We came for another look, and one of my guys just found Paul's watch underneath her bed."

"What?"

"She'll explain everything. I've got to go right now. My team is waiting. I'd appreciate a call once whomever you select to do this gets the okay from Vinnie." I moved to disconnect but felt compelled to add, "Manoso—"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. The price will be huge, Morelli."

"As long as it's not my wife—no price is too huge," I retorted and hung up.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"Thank you for agreeing to help," Stephanie offered quietly, as I handed her back her cell phone.

Ignoring her gratitude, I signaled for Arturo.

The waiter immediately appeared at the table. "Yes, Mr. Manoso?"

"May I have some coffee, please?" I asked. Turning to Steph, I added with a knowing look, "Dessert?"

She surprised me with a grin. "Joe liked the idea of me ordering ten of them to run up your bill, but I think I'll settle for one—the Tiramisu. I'd like some decaf too, please."

We waited until Arturo had removed our dishes and served the coffee and dessert before continuing our conversation.

"What did Joe say to you?" she immediately wanted to know. It irked to hear her constantly referring to Morelli, and I quickly realized if we were going to be friends, I was going to have to try and stomach my sudden aversion to the man and his name.

I chose to leave out her husband's impassioned speech about the mutual culpability of our little triangle and instead focused on the immediate situation. "He said he's over at your apartment. Evidently he and a couple of his guys went over to take another look. Another look at what? He said they found a watch under the bed."

Her eyebrows shot up.

"Morelli identified it as his brother Paul's."

"Oh my God," she breathed.

"He said you'd tell me what the hell is going on. What's the deal with your apartment?" _And why the hell hadn't I heard about it already? _My men were instructed to let me know of anything pertaining to Stephanie. There would be hell to pay later today at Rangeman.

"I'm not sure where to begin; it's so complicated, but here's the gist. You already know about Tony's arrest at the Meth House, right?"

"Jason Meachum's place. Yeah, I know about it."

"You know Meachum?"

"Tank and I make it our business to know what's going on out in the streets."

"I should have known," she agreed dryly.

"The apartment?" I reminded her, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Right. After I left you at the DNA testing place last Tuesday, Joe called to tell me someone had broken into my apartment, and he'd been assigned to the investigation. We learned later whoever did it was looking for a suitcase Paul had been carrying around with him containing all of the information outlining Meachum's business."

"Paul? Not Tony."

"Correct."

"Are _both _Morelli's brothers goons for Meachum?"

"Just wait. There's so much more," she cautioned. "Not only had the apartment been broken into, but there was a dead guy in my bed."

I had just taken a sip of coffee and about spewed it across the table. "What?"

"Louie Nagel—a drug dealer over in Newark. Have you heard of _him_?"

"Vaguely, but I hadn't heard he was dead." _There were going to be some very unhappy employees leaving Rangeman tonight after I was finished with them._

"Overdose. Somebody shot him up with heroin. More than likely whoever broke into the apartment killed him, but we don't know yet why Nagel was there."

"Why was the suitcase in your apartment?"

"It wasn't. Tony's wife Angelina had given it to me when I visited her place on Monday. She told me it contained some of Tony's personal things. At the time, we thought Tony would be staying at my apartment, because Joe couldn't stand having him in our house near me. Unfortunately, Joe's mom wasn't able to keep Tony from running off with Paul, so they both disappeared, leaving me still holding the suitcase."

_This was like a three-ring circus. _I shook my head to clear it. "Obviously Tony's wife told her husband she'd given the suitcase to you, correct?"

"Yes, and I was still carrying it around in the back of my pick-up, because I never ran into Tony. Then Joe took the pick-up from me, because it smelled like marijuana and made me feel sick. I started driving his SUV instead. Evidently someone was following me around, because while I was out with Lula checking on whether Paul had been to work at the refinery lately, someone broke into the SUV that was parked near the Bonds Office. They must have assumed the suitcase was in there."

It infuriated me I'd heard none of this from my men. For so long all of us at Rangeman had been keeping tabs on Stephanie's safety—particularly me. Morelli had destroyed the tracker on her car. Now we only had the police scanner and gossip to keep us informed of anything affecting her. Still, to not have the right to protect her any longer was killing me.

"Did they break into your house too?"

She hesitated. _What wasn't she telling me? _"Yes, someone attempted to break in, but our dog Bob scared whoever it was off, which led Joe and I to believe someone other than Tony or Paul was looking for the suitcase. But—"

She dropped off uncomfortably.

"What? Why'd you stop?"

"On Thursday morning after Joe had left for work, I went downstairs and found Tony searching through our living area for the suitcase."

My heart stopped. "You were alone?"

"Yes."

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to ask casually. "Did he hurt you?"

"Anyway—"

"Did. He. Hurt. You?"

"He twisted my arm at one point, covered my mouth at another—nothing too serious. As you, can see I'm fine."

Immediate rage coursed through me, and my voice turned deadly. "You don't want me searching for him, Eliza. If I found him, I'd kill him for hurting you."

She gave an exaggerated sigh. "You'd have to get in line behind Joe then. He's ready to kill him too. The thing is—I truly don't believe he meant me any harm. He was just desperate to find the suitcase."

I was still livid, but tried to set my feelings on simmer for a moment. I needed a clear head to get through all she was telling me. "So Morelli had the suitcase all the time?"

"Yes. After he picked me up from the site of my SUV's temporary demise, I told him I thought something was up with the suitcase, so we opened it and discovered about twenty grand in drugs plus all of the information detailing Meachum's operation in Trenton. That's when Joe discovered Meachum's drug business was linked to Louie Nagel's operation in Newark."

"When did you realize Paul was involved, because so far everything you're telling me points directly at Tony."

"I know. It wasn't until we had dinner with Joe's boss, Brett Rogers on Thursday night—"

"The new acting chief of police, correct?"

"Yes. As you can imagine, Joe was given very little access to Tony's case. He was lucky Rogers didn't kick him off the Nagel investigation once the suitcase revealed the link between the two. Joe was feeling frustrated, because he felt Rogers was playing games with him, and it turns out he had been to a certain extent. During dinner Rogers revealed the TPD had been looking at Paul all along—not Tony. Tony was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

_What? _None of this was making any sense. Everything she'd said up until now clearly showed Tony's involvement.

Stephanie must have read my confusion for she quickly said, "Hang in there with me. It's about to get even more complicated."

"Morelli needs a new family," I couldn't stop the sarcastic jab from flying out of my mouth.

She surprised me by looking sad instead of angry I'd dissed her husband's family. "You don't know the half of it. I didn't myself until I married Joe. He's kept a lot of his own secrets from me—partially from embarrassment but a lot of it from ignorance. Since all this has happened, he's learning things about his family that are beyond painful—most of which fell onto Tony's shoulders. I'll explain his behavior in a minute, but first, let me tell you about Paul."

I took another sip of coffee and waited for her to get her thoughts in order.

"Rogers told us they had a Narc within Meachum's little posse who was working to help bring down the whole organization. According to this informant, Paul had been a major player in the business for about six months."

She saw me open my mouth and immediately cut me off, "_Paul _showed up at our house two nights ago, scared out of his mind. He sat down with us and laid out a story so frickin' unbelievable it's almost movie-worthy."

"But you and Morelli believe it, don't you," I assumed.

She held up her hand. "Let me tell it first in simple terms, because it's incredibly complicated. Paul and Tony went to a hockey game in Newark back in March. Afterward they ate at this roadside barbecue place where Paul hooked up with a waitress and began having an affair."

My head was beginning to hurt trying to keep up with this mess. Perhaps it was time to turn back and refuse my help again.

"Turns out the waitress—Jessie—was only seventeen, and her brother was a vice detective for the Newark Police Department. His name's Brian Stampler."

"Never heard of him," I shook my head.

"Stampler had been investigating Louie Nagel's business over in Newark. Somehow he learned about the connection between his operation and Meachum's here in Trenton. He also learned about the his sister's affair from the guy who owns the barbecue place. He dug around and found out Paul was once involved with Meachum and friends during high school. Basically, he blackmailed Paul into becoming an informant for _him_. He offered not to have him prosecuted for soliciting a minor and statutory rape if he went undercover to help Stampler bring down both Meachum and Nagel."

"He can't do that," I scoffed. "Not unless Trenton was agreeing to work with him."

"We know, and they didn't. Now Joe is trying to find out if it was the whole Newark Police Department or just Stampler that overstepped their jurisdiction. Paul agreed to go undercover. He claims all the information in the suitcase was evidence he'd been gathering to give to Stampler."

"I'm guessing he told Tony about his involvement?"

"Not at first, but as time went on, Paul was getting more fearful for his wife and kids and the rest of his extended family. And especially when—"

She stopped again.

"When what?"

Her voice grew quieter. "When he discovered both the Newark and Trenton operations were linked to Jake Dorsey and Luke Kennard."

_Fuck. _"Both groups were distributing Stryker product?"

Stephanie nodded. "So Paul told Tony everything when they were in Barbados for our wedding. Tony insisted Paul give him the suitcase for safekeeping and to allow him to figure out what to do."

"This whole thing is whacked—"

"I know, and it gets worse. Word was going around town Tony was having an affair with Myra Flowers, Meachum's on-again/off-again lover."

"I heard that rumor. She was with him when he got arrested."

"Yes, but actually Tony's been having an affair with some chick named Lil Conroy."

"I know Lil."

"You do? How?"

"I get around."

She looked at me dubiously. "Turns out Lil was working at the TPD as a temp and found some memos indicating a sting was going to go down a week ago Friday night at Meachum's. The TPD informant had told Rogers a large drop was coming from Stryker. Lil shared that information with Tony purely as gossip; not knowing how important it would be to both Tony and Paul. In the meantime, Paul had also gotten wind of the Stryker drop and told Stampler, who said _Newark _would be there for the takedown."

"I'm assuming Newark didn't show."

"Right. That Friday night, Tony raced to Meachum's place to warn Paul, who took off. Tony mistakenly got swept up in the bust. Rogers didn't clear him, because he saw Tony as a way to lure Paul in for questioning. On the other hand, Tony's been using himself as bait for Meachum to come after _him_ rather than Paul."

"Does Morelli know who the TPD informant was?"

"Only as of yesterday. When Tony didn't show for his preliminary hearing, Joe met with the DA, Tony's attorney and Rogers. Through the course of the meeting, Joe finally got Rogers to admit Myra Flowers was Trenton's informant."

"Jesus Christ!" If _any _of this was true, what a fucking mess.

"I know, and I haven't even told you the best part," she said sardonically.

"What's that?"

"It was _Paul _who was having the affair with Myra. He was using her to get tighter with Meachum and find out more information for Stampler. And _she_ was sleeping with him, thinking he was a major player for Meachum—all the while planning to bring him down for the TPD."

"What happened to Newark? Why didn't they show?"

"Once Stampler got wind Trenton was going to be there he told Paul there was nothing he could do about the situation. He washed his hands off the Trenton investigation and told Paul he was SOL—except he wouldn't file charges against him any longer. Meanwhile Meachum now thinks _Paul _is the Narc for _Trenton_, because of the fact he bolted away from the scene prior to the sting that Friday night. He's been gunning for Paul ever since."

"Does Meachum know the TPD has the suitcase?"

"No, and Paul thinks _he _was the one who broke into my apartment and killed Louie Nagel, along with messing up my vehicle."

"And how does Bulldog fit into all of this?"

"That's only one of the things we don't know. Vinnie's been super pissed at me for quitting so suddenly. Connie and Lula said he's getting behind and desperately needs someone to do the high bonds now that you and I are out of the picture. This Bulldog supposedly walked in off the street asking for work, and Vinnie hired him on the spot. Joe's since done a background check and found—"

I waved her off. "I already know his background. I told you I'd heard of him."

"Given his history, Joe's afraid of what Bulldog might do if he finds Tony, and he's worried about what Meachum will do if he finds either Paul _or _Tony. A warrant has been issued for Paul now too. Joe knows searching for them will be difficult for the TPD, as they're so backlogged. That's why he wants you to find them first."

We sat there silently for a moment, while I tried to sort everything through in my brain. "Does Paul have _any _evidence that proves he was working for Stampler?"

"None," Stephanie whispered. "And now this deal with the watch in my apartment only makes it look worse."

"I'm not sure why in the hell you and Morelli are listening to this shit. It's pretty clear his brothers have handed him a plate of bullpucky. There's no fucking way those two aren't involved up to their lying eyeballs. You know that."

"Common sense would agree with you," she acknowledged, tilting her head to the side. "On the other hand, this story is so wild it may just be true. What's the old saying—'truth is stranger than fiction?'"

"Yes, but you also know my saying, 'if it looks like shit, and smells like shit'—"

She cut me off, "What's the one thing you've always said to me about Joe?"

"That he's a fool?"

She rolled her eyes. "Besides that?"

I knew what she was getting at, and I refused to say it.

Reading my mind, she said it for me, "You've always said Joe's a damn good cop. And he is. Yes, it would be easy to accuse him of allowing family loyalty to blur his judgment in all of this, but if you recall, he was the only one of us who thought the Mayor of Trenton was running drugs to increase the city coffers too. He's crazy good at what he does."

"Everyone has a weakness," I argued. "Something that makes a person set aside good judgment. I know. You were mine."

She flushed uncomfortably. "Ranger—"

Turning my head momentarily to regain self-control, I muttered, "Sorry. It slipped out. Do _you _believe those two are being framed?"

She took a moment before answering. "If I wasn't aware of Joe's family background—no—I absolutely wouldn't believe anything but the fact they're guilty. I wish I could tell you more about their family's history, but I can't. It's not my story to tell, and to a certain extent, the story is still incomplete. There's so much Joe doesn't remember. But what we _do _know is Tony has conditioned his brain to believe he's responsible for protecting his siblings—even as grown adults. He'll stop at _nothing _to protect Paul, who's his best friend, or the rest of the family."

"And Paul?"

"He's running scared. He knows he's being framed. He realizes he's put his entire family in jeopardy, so much so that his wife and kids along with Tony's have left town. No one knows where they're hiding." She shifted in the booth, leaning toward the table. "We need you to find them first, Ranger. Joe will deal with the legal side of things, but he can't be out looking for those two."

"How the hell is he going to deal with the legal side of things? He still doesn't have access to their case, does he?"

"No, but he also hasn't been pulled from the Nagel investigation either, and somehow we believe that's the key to the whole business. We went to Newark last night and had dinner at the restaurant where Jessie Stampler worked. Turns out she's been fired, is possibly missing and has a history of using drugs."

"Nagel?"

"It's awfully coincidental," she agreed. "Joe has a buddy on the NPD that's looking into Stampler."

I sat back in the booth. God, the last thing I wanted to do was to get involved with this mess. And helping Morelli out after all he'd taken from me burned more than anything else. But what he'd said on the phone was true. There might come a day when having a friendly face on the TPD force could come in handy given my business. Despite my attempts to run a clean organization, there were always 'those moments'. But even more importantly, I couldn't bear it if something happened to Stephanie, knowing I could've helped the situation.

"I'll go talk with Vinnie," I finally said, setting my empty coffee cup aside. "He wouldn't consider taking on one of my men—not right now at least. It's either me or nothing."

"We want the best," she smiled. "And you're the best."

"You're damn right I am. Tell your _husband _I'll be in touch."

Pulling an American Express out of my wallet, I noticed Stephanie was biting her lip hard.

"What?"

"Nothing. Thanks for meeting for lunch—and for agreeing to help."

"You're welcome, but that's not what you're thinking. What is it?"

"Well…it's just before Joe called it seemed like you were going to tell me something important about your past. Remember—you said I wasn't the first woman to have hurt you? You said Rachel wasn't the first either. So who was?"

_Shit. _In the midst of Morelli's interruption, I'd forgotten I'd been about to foolishly open a closed door in my life. For once I was thankful that idiot had disrupted me.

"I shouldn't have said anything."

"Why?" she demanded. "After _three _years you were finally going to give me something to indicate you want a real friendship with me."

"I wanted _way _more from you than friendship," I tossed back.

"Stop. Don't go trying to manipulate things. You can't back down now. We were making progress today."

"And now I'm halting progress while I set about trying to clean up yet another mess for your husband."

She growled in frustration, grabbed that oversized bag she always hauled around and stood up. "Fine. Have it your way. How much do I owe you for lunch?" she asked in a snippy tone. Had I not been so flustered by everything that had happened today I would've probably smiled at her attitude. She was just like a kid about to have a tantrum.

"I've got lunch," I responded easily, standing as well.

"Thank you," she said primly and ever so stiffly. It took everything I had not to grab her by the shoulders and kiss the hell out of her.

_She's not yours, Carlos._

We walked uncomfortably through the restaurant and out to our cars. The cold air seemed to have taken the steam out of her. As we approached her vehicle, she turned and asked uncertainly. "It was _sort of_ a successful first try, wasn't it?"

I sighed. Despite the pain of having to settle for something far less than what I wanted, I'd still enjoyed her company today. Maybe she was right. Maybe someday I needed to offer the people in my life more than just a façade.

But not today.

"It was good, Stephanie."

She smiled, and before I could object, she quickly reached up and brushed her lips across my cheek. "Thanks again. We'll talk later."

Before I could respond, she was already in her car and firing up the engine. With a quick toot of the horn, she pulled out and took off.

The price for working with Morelli was too high already. I wasn't certain if my heart would be able to take it. And yet, the cost of something happening to Stephanie was too greater a risk to ignore.

It was time to talk with Vinnie.


	6. Chapter 6

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Well, if you haven't figured out by now that this story is a little darker than my other ones, this chapter ought to make it crystal clear. I'm always hesitant to broach topics considered controversial or "taboo" in FF, but as this story has been developing, everything that's been coming out of my head is fitting together in ways I hadn't intended when I began the tale. I'm a firm believer that sometimes you have to go with your gut, even if it's the wrong choice in the end. So if for some of you this was the wrong choice, I hope you'll allow me grace and stick with the story to see if I can show you how it all fits together.

Julie, thanks much for the extra boost I needed to take the risk, and for your input as well.

Continual thanks to those whom I can't thank in PM.

***WARNING*** This chapter contains violence and physical abuse.

* * *

Chapter Six

**Ranger's POV**

"Well, stranger, I wasn't expecting to see you in here ever again. What's up?"

I gave a slight jerk of my head toward the closed door. "He in?"

Connie swiveled her desk chair around to look at me more fully. "He is, but why the hell would you want to talk with him? He's been nothing but ornery since Stephanie quit last week."

"Business," I replied simply to which she rolled her eyes.

Connie and I'd been acquaintances long before Stephanie entered our world. I'd been working for Vinnie several years prior to her becoming a bounty hunter, and during that time, Connie and I'd been friendly although certainly not what I'd consider friends. Despite her penchant for nail polish and gossip, she was a damn fine office manager. Her job skills could be put to good use at Rangeman, but her personality wasn't a match for what I liked to see in my employees.

I was about to step past her desk to knock on Vinnie's door when lunch with Stephanie came to mind; along with her accusation I withheld myself emotionally from everyone around me. Oddly, an almost unheard of sense of guilt passed through me at the idea of just walking past Connie without at least saying _something_. _Now where the hell had that notion come from?_

"So…you doing okay?" I asked awkwardly.

She'd picked up an emery board to file a nail and paused mid-motion to stare at me. "Huh?"

_Damn, what had I started? _"Is everything going okay for you?" I expanded, wanting to roll MY eyes at this foolishness.

Her mouth dropped slightly. "I'm doing fine." _Silent stare._ "Thank you." She stared at me some more, and then asked almost as an afterthought. "And you?"

"No complaints." _There. Enough of this bullshit. _I gave her a nod and walked past her desk, leaving her sitting there slack-jawed.

A single knock on the door brought a bellowed, "What!" from Vinnie. Steeling myself against the pain I always felt when having to deal with vermin, I opened the door and stepped inside to find the man himself slouched in his chair, drooling over a _Penthouse _magazine. Without bothering to look up, he growled. "What the fuck you want, Connie? I told you I didn't want to be disturbed."

"I can see why," I noted dryly. "Should I come back when you're finished?"

Vinnie's eyes flew up to meet my steady gaze. At first I thought he was going to apologize and try to hide the magazine. Instead he set it down in front of him, deliberately opening it to the centerfold.

"What do you want, Mansoso? Come back to stab the knife in a little deeper? You and Stephanie should compare notes on 'how to treat an employer like shit'."

"You were never my employer, Vinnie. I was self-contracted."

He leaned further back in his oversized, executive chair to plop his pointy-toed shoes on top of his desktop. "Whatever. I can't imagine what you're doing here. Spill it and get the hell out of my office. I've got things to do."

Grimacing at the choice of available seating, I gingerly sat down on a folding chair in front of his desk. "Business must be slow. Can't imagine any other reason why you'd be locked up in here. I guess people have been lying to me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Word around town is you're in over your head with outstanding bonds. Thought I'd do you a favor and see if I could help you out."

"Yeah right," he snorted, sticking his middle finger up at me. "Neither you nor that ungrateful cousin of mine give a rat's ass what's happening to my business. You're both a couple of fucking ingrates!"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

But Vinnie wasn't listening. "I'm tired of this shit—tired of putting money on the line—"

"Whose money—Harry's or the other mobster that bought him out?" I couldn't resist the subtle dig.

It was no secret Vinnie's wife Lucille was the daughter of Harry the Hammer, one of Trenton's most notorious mob bosses. While Vinnie owned the Bonds Office on paper, his father-in-law had been his major backer, until selling to a venture capitalist not too long ago, who also turned out to be a mobster.

"Don't mess with me, Manoso," he warned recklessly. He had to be feeling reckless to challenge me. I could destroy him in less than five seconds if I wanted to, and he knew it. Of course, that would require me touching him, and I wasn't about to go there.

Before my eyes, he lost his fight and slumped back into his chair again.

"There are days I think I ought just give this whole fucking thing up," he complained morosely.

This got a raised brow out of me. "The business?"

"Lucille wants to move to Florida—Palm Beach. Harry's got a place down there he's willing to sell us at a good price."

I wondered if the price included Vinnie's soul, but remained silent.

Vinnie continued his lament, "I'm beyond going after FTA's myself, and look at what I've got left to work with—nothing but an overweight 'ho."

"You might want to reconsider that statement," I warned in a dangerously low tone. I may never understand Tank's love for Lula, but I wasn't about to let this little piss ant degrade my best friend's woman.

He quickly shut up.

"Word is you've hired a new guy—Bruce Jackson," I commented as subtlety as possible.

For a moment, his eyes gleamed. "Yeah. Bulldog." But then the glow faded, and he waved his hand dismissively. "He's only been hired for one FTA—Morelli's brother."

"Oh?" I kept my voice disinterested. "Why's that?"

Vinnie shrugged. "It's all he wanted, and I was desperate enough to accept those terms. The bond for that drug-pushing loser is huge. I need to get my money back."

"Jackson's planning on leaving after he finds Morelli's brother?"

"So he says. Who the fuck knows? All I know is she-who-YOU-say-must-not-be-insulted can't do everything for me. She's not _that _good, despite what your men did with her a couple of weeks ago." He leaned his head back and repeated his earlier assessment. "I'm tired of this shit. I'm ready to retire."

"That's the second time you've said that. Are you serious?"

He seemed to realize how much he'd been revealing and to _whom_ he'd been revealing it, and quickly shifted gears again. "What the fuck you doing here anyway, Manoso?"

_Sigh. _Here we go. "I told you. I've come to offer my help temporarily."

"Why?" he asked with obvious suspicion.

"Maybe I feel I _do_ owe you."

He sat up straighter in his chair. "Bullshit. Something else is going on here, but I haven't quite figured it out yet." He was looking at me like a bug beneath a microscope, all the while twisting the gold chains around his neck while he thought.

"My offer is about to go off the table," I warned, preparing to stand up. _Fuck Morelli_. I didn't have time for this stupid shit. I had my own businesses to run.

"Of course!" Vinnie suddenly exclaimed and tapped his fist on the arm of his chair.

_What now?_

His beady eyes narrowed shrewdly. "You've got it bad," he taunted softly, shaking his head in disgust.

"Pardon?"

"For my cousin. You've got it bad for her, don't you? That's why you're here. That son of a bitch cop stole her away from both of us, and now you're looking for pay back."

"Hardly." My face felt frozen from trying to withhold any expression. I'd learned early on in the military the best way to approach any situation was by maintaining strict self-control at all times. Having no emotion allowed your brain to think strictly about the task at hand.

"You're a liar," he baited. "We all watched how she played you and Morelli. For God's sake, you were both drooling and dueling over her. Don't tell me you're not pissed at him for finally convincing her to succumb to Berg tradition."

"Not my business, Vinnie. I'm just trying to do you a favor."

"But why?" he demanded. "You made it clear you were finished with bounty hunting. Said your own businesses required all of your attention. Unless you've suddenly lost everything, I don't see why you're here _other _than revenge."

While it positively grated to have to go along with him, I was beginning to see there was going to be no convincing him of anything other than my supposed revenge against Morelli. _Shit. _Again I made a move to stand. There was no way I was going to allow Vinnie the opportunity to flaunt this crap in my face—not for that idiot cop. But then Stephanie's face came to mind, and I sat back down in the chair. I simply couldn't leave her open to potential harm—not when my heart still hadn't recovered from the loss of not having the right to love her. If I couldn't have her, I could at least protect her.

"You're right," I agreed reluctantly. "There's nothing more I'd like than to screw Stephanie's new _husband_—the asshole."

Vinnie looked practically giddy at this turn of events. "Ha! I knew it!" he jeered, relishing a good laugh at my supposed expense.

For what I was having to put up with here, Morelli would be broke by the time this thing was finished.

"So what you do you say?" I asked, trying to move things along. "Will you let me in on the hunt?"

Vinnie shook his head slyly. "No way. You made your choice, and I've got Bulldog."

"What's it to you? Why the hell would you care _how _many people go after him as long as you get your money. In fact, why am I even having this conversation with you? I don't need your permission." It was true. I _didn't_ need his permission. My men could easily handle this situation, but now I was beginning to wonder about this deal with Bulldog.

"You don't get my permission—you don't get your money for the capture. It's that simple," he grinned, looking like the oily snake he was.

_Damn. _I wanted to walk out and do this on my own, but now I felt like I had to keep an eye on Vinnie and Bulldog. Bearing down to maintain control, I asked through slightly gritted teeth. "What's it going to take?"

"To what?"

"To let me in, you idiot. What's your game?"

Putting his feet down, he swiveled his chair back and forth for an entire minute. While trying to wait patiently, I heard the door to the front office open, and Lula's voice clearly saying, "I got another one! The little weenie thought I'd be impressed by _his _little weenie, but as soon as I told him I'd been a 'ho and had seen _much _more impressive weenies, he went along willingly."

"Nice job," I thought was Connie's muffled response. Her voice wasn't nearly as loud as Lula's.

"Hell yeah, it was. And I didn't even have to sit on this one neither!"

_Good God. _I suddenly had a mental image of Tank and Lula in the bedroom and felt sick to my stomach.

Studying me carefully, the gleam slowly came back into Vinnie's eyes. He too had been listening to Lula. When he finally opened his mouth, I couldn't believe the words that came out of those thin, weasel-like lips of his.

"You want in on capturing Morelli?" he goaded.

"I said I didn't, didn't I?" _Jesus, let me get back to the sanity of Rangeman_.

Vinnie leaned across the desk. "There's only _one _way I'll allow you in on this, Manoso—take it or leave it. You want something from me, and I want something from you."

"What the hell do you want from me?" I asked, unable to think of a damn thing.

"If I'm going to keep this business going, I need Lula better trained—at least until I can find someone else to come in for the mega bonds. I want _you _to train her. Not any of your men—_YOU._"

I immediately stood. "You're fucking out of your mind. Forget it," I said dismissively. "I don't need revenge that badly."

"Yeah you do," Vinnie jeered. "You want the satisfaction of hitting Morelli where it hurts. Believe me—I know."

The desire to walk out was practically choking me, but I simply couldn't turn my back on Stephanie's safety. She still meant too much to me. On top of that, an idea was beginning to formulate in the back of my mind. I needed time to process it, but for now—

"Fine. I'll do it," I agreed brusquely. "Let's go."

Vinnie's eyes goggled. "I don't believe it! Are you crazy? No revenge is worth dealing with that psycho out there."

"Do you want her trained or not?" I asked impatiently.

"Hell yeah, but—"

"Then get out of my way."

Vinnie stepped to the side and sniggered. "Good luck. Hope you don't get squished."

Ignoring him, I opened the door to his office and found Connie typing on her computer, while Lula was sprawled on the couch eating a chilidog. As soon as she saw me, she stood, looking intimidated by my presence per usual. With her eyes opened that wide, I could see nothing but white, and I felt slightly badly I seemed to cause her so much unease.

Quickly trying to hide the chilidog behind her back, she greeted nervously, "Hey Ranger—what you doin' here?"

_Turning into a goddamned fool. _Allowing myself a small sigh, I responded, "I've come to pick up my new partner on an apprehension."

Connie had stopped typing and stood, looking confused. "Wait—what? But I thought—Who? You and Bulldog?"

Ignoring Connie, I gave Lula a hard look. "No. Me and Lula."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

The phone was already ringing as soon as I stepped into the cramped space of my office.

"Morelli."

"Are you convinced yet?"

It was Rogers.

Already three o'clock, I hadn't had a thing to eat, and now I was going to have to deal with my boss.

"Pardon?" I stalled.

"Cut the crap, detective. This watch business seals the deal as far as I'm concerned. I've already contacted Parks about it. He's getting his case lined up. Once Paul's found, we're going after him with guns blazing. And thanks to you we're well on our way to proving he killed Louie Nagel as well."

_Great. _Now not only was I going to have the District Attorney breathing down my neck, but I was actually helping him to build the case against my own brother too.

Clearing my throat, I tried to sound unfazed. "Did you happen to speak with Bud Reynolds this afternoon?"

"Hell no!" He snorted in my ear. "You didn't really expect I'd call up a friend and colleague and ask him if he'd authorized a non-sanctioned sting in my jurisdiction, did you?"

"It's a simple enough question to ask. I don't see what the big deal is. It'd be good for us to know—"

"We _already_ know more than we need to. I'm sorry if this hurts you, Joe. I'm sure it's difficult to accept both of your brothers are lying to you—and even more difficult to accept Paul's choices to get involved with dealing drugs. But facts are facts, and we have those. I'm not about to look like a foolish idiot by suggesting anything different to the Chief of Newark."

Are you pulling me from the Nagel Case?"

"Don't talk nonsense. You've already proven your loyalty today by telling the truth about the watch. I do expect you, however, to continue to push for finding the proof we need to get Paul on a murder charge in addition to the drugs."

_Shit. _"What about Tony?"

"That's out of our hands now, and you know it. Myra Flower has already told us he wasn't involved with Meachum. I too believe he felt compelled to help his brother and, in the process, made some foolish choices to aid and abet him. But it's up to the DA to decide how far he wants to punish those mistakes."

I hadn't even sat down in my chair yet and did so now in exhaustion, dropping my head against the top of it. "Sir, as a favor to me, would you _please _consider contacting Chief Reynolds?"

"I will not, detective. I won't accuse a colleague of overstepping his boundaries without a damn good reason, and I no longer feel there is _any _reason to do so. Your brother is our only suspect at this time. Am I making myself clear?"

_Crystal clear. You don't want to take any risk for fear you won't lose the 'Acting' in front of the title Chief. _This whole thing had become about politics once again.

"I think I got the message," I responded, trying hard not to sound bitter but failing miserably.

"Get back to work, Morelli."

Hanging up the receiver more forcefully than necessary, I swiped a hand over my face. I needed to think. What possible explanation could there be for my father's watch having been underneath Stephanie's bed other than Paul having lost it while searching for the suitcase and perhaps murdering Louie Nagel? And why the hell hadn't I heard anything from Keith Chapman over in Newark yet? For that matter, why hadn't I heard back from anyone at Rangeman?

My stomach informed me it needed something to get through the rest of the day. Opting for the vending machines, I headed out of my office and down the hallway toward the break room. On the way, I passed the evidence room, and, at the last minute, swung in there instead.

We'd had to hire new officers to man the evidence room after the Kennard Case, as that had been where Jake Dorsey had held the Stryker product he'd been distributing at one time. I'd yet to meet any of the new personnel and immediately made sure my badge was visible on my waistband.

"I'm Detective Joe Morelli, Vice and Homicide," I said to the young officer behind the desk. He looked like a miniature Opie from _The Andy Griffith Show_, and to my eyes appeared about as young. _When had I suddenly become one of the older cops?_

"Yes sir," Opie acknowledged my badge. "May I help you?"

"A watch was brought into evidence this afternoon from a case I'm heading. I'd like to take a look at it please." I quickly gave him the case number.

"I just finished putting that in lock-up, sir. Follow me."

We wound our way through the stacks of shelves and evidence lockers. I hadn't been down here since the Kennard Case and could see the place had been thoroughly cleaned. A glance at Opie's badge indicated his real name was Pete Siedler.

"Any relation to Bucky Siedler?" I casually mentioned the name of my high school friend and auto mechanic while Pete opened the locker containing the evidence from Stephanie's apartment.

"Second cousin," he replied, concentrating on his duties.

"You recently out of the academy?"

"Yes sir," he answered politely, still concentrating. I could tell he was serious about his job.

Good for him. Cynically, I wondered how long it would take for him to become jaded like the rest of us.

He finally had the locker opened and handed the watch to me.

"Thanks," I smiled. "Listen, I just want to log some information down about it for my own records. I'll call you when I'm done."

"But, I'm no supposed to leave—"

"I'm more than trustworthy, Pete. But if you'd feel better, you can contact Chief Rogers—"

His eyes widened. "No—no, that's fine. I know who you are. You brought down the Mayor and most of this police department. I trust you."

_Good to know someone did. _"I appreciate the vote of confidence."

He cleared his throat. "Do you need a paper and pen to take notes?"

_Damn. _I hadn't thought of how this must look to him. Quickly pulling out my phone, I shook my head. "I'll do it on here. Thanks."

He shrugged and headed back for his desk, leaving me to stare down at the watch. _What the hell was I doing here anyway? _I didn't need to see this watch again. I'd seen it a million times during the course of my life. Why then did I feel so compelled to hold it—touch it—feel it?"

I was dead tired. Finding a beat up chair that'd been cast off from someone's office years ago, I sat down, still holding the watch. I deliberately closed my eyes just for a moment to try and clear my thoughts.

* * *

_That darn Stephanie Plum!_

_She made me so mad I wanted to spit. Who'd she think she was anyway? Crazy little girl—believing she can fly. Running all over the place with that silly beach towel pinned around her neck. Telling me she's going to jump off her daddy's garage one day. How stupid is that? I told her everybody knows you can't fly—at least not without a jet pack or something. But did she believe me—no. Told me to go home until I could admit she was right. Shit, like THAT was ever going to happen. _

_Shit. I needed to practice saying that word out loud a little bit more in order to make it sound like Tony. He could make it sound like about three words in one—Sheee-it-ahhh. It almost sounded like some of that Italian mumbo-jumbo Grandma Bella was always spouting off whenever I saw her. _

_Man, Tony was cool. He and Paulie were the best big brothers in the whole wide world. If only they were home right now to play ball or something. But it was Paulie's eighteenth birthday, and the two of them were out riding around with their friends. Said I was too young. They were probably drinking and picking up girls. Blech._

_Ma and our girls were at some boring bake-off or cook-of or a something or other-kind-of-off at the church. That meant my father was the only one home with me today._

_My heart did a funny little flutter in my chest at the thought of him. I sure hoped Ma came home by suppertime. I didn't want to have to go inside the house—not when HE was in there alone. He got funny sometimes when it was just the two of us—meaner and drunker—and he was always talking to girls named Evelyn and Jackie on the telephone. I didn't know any girls named Evelyn or Jackie, and I don't think Ma did either._

_So here I was stuck outside with nothing to do, no buddies around, and that dumb Stephanie Plum telling me she wouldn't play with me until I apologized for not believing she could fly. Course she was only six so what did she know anyway? Sheee-it-ahhh._

_I started pitching baseballs into the pitch back that was set up near the old garage. I was Dwight Gooden on the mound for the Mets and about to win the World Series for the best team in the world. Winding up, I tossed all ten balls in succession, pleased that only three of them had missed the pitch back and rolled into the open side door of the garage._

_But uh-oh. That meant I was going to have to go INTO the garage to get those balls back. I didn't like going in there. The garage smelled funny, like old tires and motor oil, and it's where my father went when he felt like hitting or—more often—whipping someone with his big, black belt. I was lucky. I'd only had to go out there a couple of times, usually when no one was home but the two of us—like today. Mostly it was Tony who got dragged out there. Funny, he was as big as Dad now. Why'd he still go out there with him? When I got that big, I'd hit my father back. Maybe he'd stop hitting if he knew how much it hurt. _

_Swallowing hard, I knew I had to get those balls out of there. If I left them and someone else stepped inside when it was dark and tripped, I'd get in BIG trouble. I took a deep breath and carefully stepped inside, searching for the little chain that hung from the ceiling to turn on the single overhead light bulb._

_I'd just finished collecting the balls when my eyes spotted something lying on top of several stacked milk crates filled with old 'National Geographic' magazines. It was a magazine on the crate, but this one was different._

_Holy Sheee-it-ahhh! There were naked women in there! What the heck were they doing like that in a magazine? What was this thing?_

_Quickly glancing over my shoulder to make certain I was alone, I thumbed through the magazine. This was the craziest thing I'd ever seen. Why would somebody want to look at pictures of girls without their clothes on? I knew Tony and Paulie were REALLY into girls, but I don't think they'd want to see them NAKED or anything._

_Did all women look like this? Did girls? Obviously girls didn't look like THIS, but did they have some of these same parts? Huh. Well now I wanted to know. _

_And I was going to have to find out. But how? I couldn't ask Ma or Cathy or Mary. They weren't home. And I wasn't about to ask my father. Who could I ask?_

_Of course! I'd ask Stephanie Plum. She was only six years old, but I bet she'd tell me if she looked like that. I'd ask her right now before anyone else got home, and my father was busy drinking._

_As I marched the two blocks over to her house, it occurred to me that perhaps this wasn't exactly the smartest idea I'd ever had, but—darn it—I wanted to know the truth. I always wanted to know the truth. Ma said I was the nosiest kid she'd ever met, because I was always pestering her to know things. Well right or wrong, I was going to find out from Stephanie Plum._

_She was right where I'd left her when she'd sent me home, drawing some silly contraption on the sidewalk with her chalk. She claimed it was the flying machine she was going to build when she had enough money to buy the materials. Rolling my eyes, I told myself again she had to be about the dumbest girl I'd ever known. But if she could answer my question today, it'd be worth telling her what she wanted to hear._

"_You back to say you're sorry and that you were wrong, Joseph?" she looked up at me with those big, blue eyes of her. As usual, she had one hand holding back that mop of crazy, curly hair of hers from her eyes._

_Remembering the goal, I set my jaw and said, "I'm sorry. Of course you can fly. How could I have been so stupid as to think a six-year old girl can't jump off the roof of a garage and fly?" _

_THERE—I'd done it._

_She squinted at me. "You mean it?"_

_I crossed two fingers behind my back. "Sure, I mean it."_

"_Well—alright then," she nodded. "Mama says I'm not supposed to play with you no more, but I guess it's okay this one last time. Wanna play ball?"_

_Actually I did. But first I wanted to know the answer to my question._

"_So I got to ask you something."_

_She stood up and came closer. "Yeah?"_

"_Uh…" Now that she was standing right there staring at me I was quickly losing my nerve. "Um…well."_

_Sheee-it-ahhh. How was I ever going to find out if I was too afraid to ask the question?_

"_What's the matter with you, Joseph?"_

"_Nothing! I was just wondering—" My throat went suddenly dry and the words came out in a rush, "You want to play a new game?"_

_Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's the name of this game?"_

"_Uh—Choo Choo."_

"_Choo Choo? I've never heard of that game."_

"_I told you it's new!" I flung my arms out. Boy was she dumb or what?_

"_How do you play?"_

_Shoot. How did you play? Desperately thinking of some rules, I answered, "You're going to have to come over to my house and play it."_

_Those blue eyes grew rounder. They were pretty eyes. Too bad they were wasted on a girl. Ma should have eyes like Stephanie Plum's. Ma's eyes were always sad._

"_I don't know if my mama will let me go to your house," she hesitated._

"_It won't take long. Come on."_

_I turned around and started off toward my house, half-expecting her to stay behind. But when I snuck a peek over my shoulder, she was tagging along with that ridiculous beach towel flopping behind her. When we got to my house, I headed directly over to the garage. We got to the door and stopped._

"_I don't want to go in there," she said, shaking her head._

_Who could blame her? I didn't want to go in there either. But I was bound and determined to know the truth about that funny magazine._

"_It's a short game," I told her. "We don't have to stay in there long." How was I going to get her in there? "You're not chicken are you?"_

_She stood there in her short pink skirt and glared at me. "I'm not scared of anything!" She looked back through the doorway and swallowed hard. "This better be fun, Joseph, or I'm leaving."_

_Together we stepped tentatively inside the garage._

"_Phew! It smells in here!" she cried out._

"_Shhh!" I looked frantically out the door. What if my father had heard her?_

_She looked around the garage, still only lit by that dim light bulb and screwed her face up funny. I felt embarrassment course through me at the condition of the place and a sense of shame that perhaps I shouldn't be doing what I was about to do. I thought about trying to ask her one more time—or better yet show HER the magazine, but somehow that seemed even more embarrassing._

"_What's the name of this game?" she asked again._

_Conscience warred with curiosity—and curiosity won._

_I got down on my hands and knees. "Choo Choo," I replied, crawling between her legs. My head was now trapped under that short pink skirt. "You're the tunnel, and I'm the train." _

_My voice sounded muffled to my own ears. Now that I was under there, I didn't know what to do. She had Strawberry Shortcake underwear on. Hmmm…interesting, but no big deal. I had on Masters of the Universe underwear that were WAY cooler. And with that underwear in the way, I STILL didn't know the answer to my question._

"_What are you doing?" Stephanie asked, as I sat there contemplating my next move. "When do I get to be the train?"_

"_Um—I don't know. Soon?"_

_I wasn't about to touch her to move the underwear aside. That'd be too gross. I'd just opened my mouth to ask her if SHE'D move the underwear, when she lifted one leg over my head and stepped aside. _

"_This is about the stupidest game I've ever seen, Joseph Morelli. Boy, are you DUMB. I'm going home," she announced angrily. "That is—unless I get to be the train now."_

_I was still sitting on the floor. "Go home," I muttered, waving my hand in surrender. She was right. This HAD been a dumb idea._

_She gave a little huff and headed for the door to the garage. Pushing those goofy curls out of her face again, she gave me an eye-roll over her shoulder, turned to leave and ran smack dab into my father._

_Stephanie took one frightened look up at him, straightened that pink skirt of hers and ducked beneath his arm, running for home. _

_Oh man._

_Scrambling to my feet, I stared up at my father, eyes wide and wild. "Um—"_

"_What the fuck you doing out here, boy? Who was that girl?" He weaved unsteadily and grabbed a hold of the doorframe for support._

"_No one, sir," I hastily said. I had no idea why, but I knew instinctively I didn't want my father to know it was Stephanie Plum. I wanted him nowhere near that girl._

_He took a step forward. "Don't you lie to me, Joseph. What the hell were you two doing?" _

_His fireball eyes scanned the garage and fell upon the open magazine across the milk crate. Without warning, his long ape-like arm reached out and snagged my ear, dragging me across the floor to the magazine. "Were you two looking at this? Is that it?_

"_No sir!"_

_He backhanded me across the mouth, and I fell, landing on top of a stack of old tires. OWWWW! Pain exploded across my lip, as blood spurted out. I grabbed it and looked at the door. Could I escape?_

_My father intercepted my gaze and shook his head. "Don't even think about it, son. What were you two doing? I saw that girl fixin' her skirt. Were you two looking at this magazine? Were you touching each other?"_

_I was horrified. "NO!" I shook my head vehemently. "I'd never—"_

"_Shut up!" He kicked out his leg and hit me right below the shin. The force of it caused him to lose his balance again. "Shut the fuck up, Joseph." _

_The free hand not already holding my lip clutched my shin, as tears automatically blurred my vision. Oh God, it hurt. It hurt so bad! Why did he want to hit me? Where was Ma? Where was Tony? Please someone—make him stop hurting me!_

_He stood there weaving, looking like one of those Fisher Price Weebles bobbling around. Slowly he took off his fancy watch and laid it on top of the magazine. Noticing me staring at it, he said, "You know what time it is, kid?"_

"_No sir," I whispered fearfully through my rapidly swelling lip._

"_It's time to teach you a long overdue lesson." _

_With painstaking deliberation, he removed his black belt inch by inch until it hung from his hand like a Cobra ready to strike. As he moved toward where I cowered against the tires, all I could think of was Sheee-it-ahhh!_

_He raised the belt—_

"_NO DADDY. NO SIR!"_

* * *

"Detective Morelli!"

I felt a hand shaking my shoulder and opened my eyes while jumping to my feet at the same time. My hands were instantly up and ready to defend myself.

"Detective Morelli, are you alright sir?"

_What? I was dazed. What the fuck had just happened? What had I been about to remember? _For as soon as I'd opened my eyes, the memory was gone.

Pete Siedler stood staring at me as if I'd just escaped from the Loony Bin.

"Sir?"

I grabbed a lungful of air and released it slowly, shaking my head to clear it. "I'm fine, Officer. Really. Sorry about that. I think I fell asleep for a minute. Been working some crazy hours," I floundered. The whole time my mind was racing. _What the hell had that dream been about?_

"No problem," he replied, still looking at me doubtfully. "Um—are you finished with the watch, sir? I'll put it back for you."

Staring down at the offensive item, I swallowed over the lump in my throat. "Yeah—sure."

I handed him the watch and started for the door. "Uh, thanks, Pete. I appreciate your help."

"No problem, sir."

Without stopping or looking back, I said forcefully, "Don't call me sir."


	7. Chapter 7

I do not own any of JE's characters.

I'm on a writing binge. Can't seem to stop thinking or writing about this story. LOL! So with that, here's your THIRD chapter this week. How about them apples! HOWEVER...I'm on a two week vacation with my family, so writing time won't be as convenient. I'll be working on it when I can, but don't expect three chapters again next week. Well, unless a miracle happens or something. :-)

Thank you, Julie, for making yourself so available to Beta this week. I truly appreciate all of your help and guidance.

Some new readers joined us this week too. Welcome! And thanks to all for the comments you've left. Enjoy your weekend everyone.

* * *

Chapter Seven

**Ranger's POV**

Pulling into the underground parking garage of Rangeman, I informed Lula, "I need to touch base with Tank for a few minutes, and then we'll get started."

She nodded her head, still wide-eyed and wondering. Apparently she'd been rendered mute since my announcement of our partnership in Vinnie's office, for she'd barely spoken two words to me since our departure. After looking at Vinnie for approval, she'd given Connie a disbelieving look, shoved the rest of her chilidog in her mouth, grabbed her bag and followed me out to the Turbo. Conversation over to Rangeman had been nonexistent.

"You've never been to our office before have you?" I commented absently while navigating into my reserved parking space.

She shook her head and the dozens of sparkly beads in her hair shimmered like fireflies. I couldn't figure out if she was awestruck or scared, and neither option made me feel more hopeful. Allowing a brief sigh, I quickly realized the mental agony of this experiment was going to be far worse than any physical torture I'd ever received in the military.

We rode the elevator up to the main level in complete silence. As soon as the doors opened, Tank was there to meet us with a smile on his face as wide as the Mississippi River, along with a definite question in his eyes. He'd obviously seen us on the security cameras and had come to greet his woman as well as to find out what the hell was going on.

"Lula Doll," he greeted warmly, wrapping meaty arms around her abundant girth and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "What'cha doing here, baby?"

Before my eyes, the Lula we all knew came back to life. "Well, hell if I know! Thirty minutes ago I got back to the office after takin' down some flasher over on Vine Street. Next thing I know I'm suddenly Ranger's new partner. Is that the shit or what?" she grinned and gave a little hip wiggle in her red miniskirt clad butt, which unfortunately didn't leave much to the imagination.

Tank looked nonplussed at me over her head and mouthed, "What the fuck?"

"I need a few minutes with you—alone," I returned evenly, already turning toward my office. Without waiting for a reply, I headed down the hallway. Meanwhile, Tank played host to Lula.

"There's a break room down the hall, baby." _Kiss. "_Why don't you go see if you can find yourself a snack while I talk with Ranger, okay?" _Kiss. _"It's so good to see you, Sugar Mama. You're lookin' so fine—"

"Tank!" I bellowed before disappearing into my office. Heading straight to my desk, I opened the top drawer and took out a vial of pain reliever. _Good God, my head hurt!_

He immediately appeared in the doorway. "What the hell's going on?" he asked in wonder.

"Shut the door," I motioned with one hand while drinking from a bottle of water with the other.

As soon as I was finished, I pulled out my cell phone.

"Who you calling?" he asked, completely stymied.

"Just listen. I'm only doing this once."

After two rings, I heard the principal voice of my latest nightmare answer the phone.

"Morelli."

"You do realize, I hope, that you don't have enough money in the world to pay what you're going to owe me after this thing is done, right?" I uttered by way of greeting.

"Who's doing the job?" the burr-in-my-side questioned, completely ignoring my dig. He sounded flat out exhausted—and some other unidentifiable emotion.

"Me and my new_ partner, _Lula," I responded through a clenched jaw. I had to be careful not to insult Tank's woman in front of him, but Jesus Christ, even _he_ had to know how ridiculous this new arrangement was, didn't he?

Tank's eyes narrowed in assessment. I don't think he was quite clear yet on who was the receiving end of my conversation.

"What?" Morelli repeated in confusion.

"Vinnie gave me shit about wanting to go after your brother," I informed him.

_Bingo! _Tank's eyes immediately went sharp with understanding. His full lips parted into another mile-wide grin. _Glad someone was happy. _

"He said the only way he'd allow me into the game is if I trained Lula for him."

"But you don't need his permission," Morelli pointed out as if I were stupid. "Just send a couple of your best guys—"

"Bulldog was only hired to search for Tony," I cut him off, hoping he'd catch on quickly.

He did. After a short pause, he asked, "His choice or Vinnie's?"

"His. Walked in off the street and offered his services specifically for that search."

Morelli swore softly. "So what's the deal with Lula?"

"Vinnie's ultimatum was I train her in exchange for being allowed the privilege of going after your brother. Hopefully by going through Vinnie, I can keep track of Bulldog too."

A small snort of laughter escaped from Morelli's nose and mouth.

"I wouldn't laugh. I'm going to _own _you by the time this thing is finished."

Another laugh erupted—this one longer and louder. The next thing I knew the idiot was totally cracking up on the other end of the line. "Morelli—"

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "But, oh shit—you have no idea how badly I needed that laugh right now." After several more moments, he sobered. "What do you need from me?"

"Your wife," I replied without hesitation. Tank's eyes widened, and he shook his head warningly at me.

_Silence._

"Alright—I'll bite, because I _know _you're not stupid enough to mean that literally. What's up?" Morelli asked lazily, but I wasn't fooled.

"I need her as a buffer between Lula and me."

"Because?"

"Lula's either scared to death, or else I intimidate the hell out of her—I'm not sure which. Probably both." This got a rumble of mirth out of Tank and another snort out of Stephanie's husband.

"Can you blame her?" Morelli agreed sardonically. _Asshole. _He continued, "What will this buffering require?" Before I could respond, he added quickly, "I'm only asking because Dr. Hamilton will have my ass if she's put into a stressful working situation, and I'll have _yours_ if she's put into _any _situation that could harm her or the babies."

"Understood. I just want her to ride with us—at least for a day—so that Lula can relax a bit and open up to me. I can't train her if she's incapable of speech."

_Tank was going to hurt his face if he didn't stop smiling so much_.

"Lula—incapable of speech? I'd almost pay to see that," Morelli quipped.

"Cut the shit. Are you okay with Stephanie riding with us or not? Hopefully it won't take that long to bring Tony in."

"And that's all she's doing, right—riding around in your car?"

"Yes."

"As long as you can guarantee her safety, and provided she's okay with it, I have no issue."

_Good. _Her presence was the only thing that might save my sanity. "What's the latest on your end?"

"Nada—other than a warrant is now out for Paul's arrest."

"You need to give me something more here. Where should I be looking for your brothers?"

He let out a growl. "If I knew, don't you think I'd have found them myself by now? I've been searching every haunt of theirs for the past week."

He quickly named off several bars, friends' names/addresses along with the name of the flop hotel Paul had stayed in the weekend before last.

Morelli added, "Ask Steph what she thinks too. She knows the whole story as well as I do, and her instincts, I swear, are better than both of ours put together. If you get a clue from any one of these leads, it might help her come up with something neither of us have thought of yet."

"Any word from Newark?"

"No. I'm still waiting to hear from my buddy on the force. I'll let you know what I learn."

"You understand I'm only authorized to bring in Tony, correct?"

"I know, but if you do, I think Paul will turn himself in as well. I think he's realizing he needs to step up and face this mess he's created on his own and stop allowing Tony to protect him."

"Where do you think Bulldog fits into all this?" I asked, shifting the subject.

"No clue. I'd be curious to know how he even became aware of the situation in order to approach Vinnie about it. Something's wrong. I feel it."

"Everything still points to your brothers, Morelli. Don't assume my assistance means I think they're innocent, because I don't."

"I don't care what you think or believe. Just find them before Bulldog or Meachum do. I'll take care of the rest," he retorted stiffly, and yet I could still hear something else in his voice—something unidentifiable that was very un-Morelli-like."

For one nanosecond I almost asked him what was wrong, and then quickly stopped myself. _What did I care? I DIDN'T care! _I was being paid to do a job, and that's what I'd do—just like always. Becoming emotionally invested didn't accomplish a thing.

"What's the fee going to be for your assistance?" he questioned in my ear.

"I'm thinking it through. I'll let _you_ know when _I_ know."

"How reassuring. Are you always this vague?"

"Only for _special _clients like you," I retorted snidely. "Later."

Disconnecting with a frown, I looked up to see Tank eyeing me closely. He still had that annoying grin plastered all over his face.

"Don't start," I warned.

He held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm not starting anything. I think you made a wise choice to reconsider helping Morelli. What made you change your mind?"

I bared my teeth. "Haven't you heard? I'm a mercenary. Morelli will be a poor man by the time I'm finished."

He shook his massive head slowly, still smiling. "No—what you are is loyal to those you love. And you love Stephanie."

_He really needed to stop saying that—even if it was true._

"How can I help?" he asked, standing up.

Leaning back in my chair, I answered, "Have Cal start running searches on both Paul and Tony Morelli. I want to know everything I can to help me know where to search. Oh—and have him do a run on Bruce Jackson too. I think I already know everything I need to know about him, but it'd be good to see if anything new has popped up. I need to make another phone call, and then I'll be down to get Lula. See if you can get her to stop being afraid of me."

"She's not afraid," Tank shook his head, his smile finally dimming. "She's in awe of you. You're her hero—Batman come to life."

_Shit. _"Oh for God's sake! Well, make it stop. We have work to do and very little time. Her starry eyes have got to go."

His face grew dark. "You go easy on her, Carlos. Underneath all that attitude of hers is a heart of marshmallow. She's been hurt enough in her life and doesn't need you causing any more damage."

"And how exactly would I do that?"

"She's got a crush on you," Tank admitted begrudgingly but without a trace of jealousy. "We've all known it for years. To her you're 'all that and a bag of chips'. You know what I'm saying? I just don't want you crushing her spirit or her heart on the first day. You treat my girl with respect."

_Oh. My. God. _Could the situation possibly get any worse? Now I had my towering giant of a best friend worried I was going to break his girlfriend's heart. I'd either be dead or dead drunk before the week was through.

"Don't worry," I managed to get out with a straight face. "I'm all-business, Tank. I've got an idea floating around in the back of my head after talking with Vinnie, but I need some time to think about it."

He looked at me curiously, but remained blessedly silent. After sizing me up once more, he gave a short nod. "I'll go down and see what I can do with Lula."

He closed the door behind him, and I took a moment to relish the silence. _Why the hell was I putting myself through all of this trouble? _Stephanie wasn't even mine to love anymore. I didn't give a rat's ass about Morelli, and I certainly didn't need all of these extra people cluttering up my well-ordered world right now.

_It was because she challenged you, Carlos._

The thought popped into my head before I could stop it. It was true. Stephanie had challenged me at lunch today. _What was it she'd said?_

"_I want to be your friend if you'll allow me to. I think you have so much inside of you that's funny and interesting and worthy of being told, but you hold yourself back all the time—"_

"_How can you have a relationship with someone who only gives you one dimension of himself?" _

She'd called me one-dimensional, and if I were honest with myself, I'd admit she'd hurt me by saying that. And if I were being even more honest, I'd acknowledge the truth to her accusation. So much of my reluctance to open myself to people had been out of necessity, but part of it had been purely out of self-protection. I _had_ been hurt—badly—in the past. Even Tank didn't know the depth of treachery I'd faced.

I'd vowed long ago to protect myself from ever being hurt that deeply again.

Forcing myself to clear my head, I punched the familiar speed dial and listened to it ring three times before Stephanie's voice answered groggily, "Hello?"

"You were sleeping, weren't you?" I mentally cursed.

"S'alright. Just another one of my zillion naps these days. What's up?"

"I saw Vinnie, and I'm on board for going after Morelli's brother."

I could hear her sitting up and trying to get more comfortable. "Thank you," she offered sincerely. "Have you told Joe?"

"Yeah. Here's the thing. You and I both know Vinnie never offers anything for free—"

"What'd he want?"

"For me to train Lula to be able to go after the high bonds."

"I thought that's what Bulldog was for?"

"Turns out he only asked to go after Tony. Morelli and I are both looking into what could be the reason for that. In the meantime, I'm stuck with Lula as a partner."

_Silence._

"Eliza, if you start laughing, you're dead to me. You got that?"

"Got it," she strangled out the words, trying not to disobey my command.

"I need your help."

"With?"

"I need you to serve as a buffer and communicator between Lula and me. She and I don't exactly have a rapport—"

"That's because she's totally infatuated by you."

_Jesus. _"You're the second person to have told me that in five minutes."

"It's true. She's about the only one who told me I was crazy to choose Joe. You're a Wizard in her eyes."

_Really? _My eyebrows went up. _Huh. _Maybe I'd misjudged Lula. Obviously she had more sense than Stephanie, who _should _have chosen me.

"What do you say? Are you willing to ride along with us?" I posed the question.

She hesitated. "_Just _ride along?"

"Nothing more. Don't worry; I'm not going to put you in any danger. You have my word."

"I don't know. I'd better talk it over with Joe first—"

"I already did. He says it's up to you, but he's okay with it."

"Really?" she sounded stunned.

"I think he's pretty desperate to find his brothers. He's being rather accommodating," I said dryly.

She mused some more. "I'd love to feel useful." She must've looked at a clock. "It's already pushing four o'clock. How about we start first thing in the morning, okay? I'll try to get a lot of rest tonight before then. The Zofran makes me extra tired, and I never know when I'll need a nap. I may end up sleeping in the backseat of your car, but if you're okay with that and are _positive _I won't be in any danger, I'll do it."

"Fine. We'll pick you up tomorrow morning—nine o'clock _sharp_." I wasn't sure how I felt about spending the entire day with Stephanie so soon after her marriage to Morelli. Despite our lunch earlier that day, my emotions were still incredibly raw. But if it meant I could get the job done with Lula, perhaps it would be worth a little heartache.

"I'll be ready."

Disconnecting, I made my way down to the employee's lounge where Tank and Lula were huddled like Siamese twins on the couch together. Between the two of them, it didn't look like there was an inch of space left for either of them to breathe.

"Stephanie's all set to ride with us in the morning," I announced.

Lula's eyes dimmed slightly. "Oh. Girlie's comin'? I thought it was just gonna be you and me." She sounded almost disappointed.

"Just for a day or so. I figured she might be able to remember some of the things we did when I trained her."

She heaved herself off the couch. "That don't include runnin', does it? 'Cause I don't run." Her face was set belligerently.

Actually, I _had_ thought about starting out with a five-mile run in the morning, but one glance at her face had me changing my mind. The last time I'd tried to take Stephanie and Lula running hadn't worked out well at all. Better to start this training process slowly. "Uh—how about we head downstairs to the gun range."

"Gun range," she repeated doubtfully.

"I want to take a look at your shooting skills. You do own a gun, right?"

She looked at me like I was an idiot, which I was beginning to think was true. "Of course I own a gun. I just got me a new one." Quickly reaching inside her bag, she pulled out a Walther p22 and pointed it at the ceiling.

_Sweet Jesus. It was pink._

"It's pink," I noted stupidly. After a slight pause, I added, "You own a _pink _gun?"

Her grin mimicked Tank's from earlier. "Isn't it the shit? It's not just pink. It's pink _tiger_ _stripe_. I saw it the other day, and knew I had to have it."

I turned to Tank. "Your woman is carrying a _pink _gun."

He looked equally distressed. "Lula doll, if you want to be taken seriously, baby—you don't go around carrying a pink gun. Pink is for sissy girls—not big, tough women like you."

"Who you callin' big?" she cut in, eyes narrowed to slits. "I _know _you didn't just call me big—_Pierre_."

"NO!" he backpedaled furiously, and I shook my head in sympathy. "I just meant—"

"I'll have you know there are _many _full-figured women who choose to carry a pink gun. This gun packs a hell of a punch AND it has class. It matches my Mace and my taser too. What part of that you got a problem with—boys?"

"Never mind," I interjected wearily, rubbing at the tension on the back of my neck. "Let's go see if you can shoot this punchy, classy, pink gun of yours, and then we'll call it a day." Looking at Tank pointedly, I added, "_You'll_ be joining us at the range, my friend, and then _you_ can take her back to Vinnie's to get her car."

"Right," he agreed, still trying to figure out how he'd stepped into so much shit in such a short time.

"Oh, and find her some Rangeman shirts and a jacket." I wasn't about to be seen working with someone in a red mini-skirt—especially in November.

"Right."

Lula's eyes grew huge. "I get to wear a Rangeman uniform? _Damn! _Just think how good my gun's gonna look! Wearing all black will make that baby go "POP" when I bring it out for the world to see."

Taking a cleansing breath, I told myself I just needed to get through the next thirty minutes. After that, there was a tall glass of whiskey with my name on it waiting for me somewhere.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

It was six o'clock the next time I opened my eyes, and it was to find Joe lying flat on his back beside me, staring up at the ceiling.

"Hey," I greeted softly. "When did you get home?"

"About fifteen minutes ago," he replied, turning his head to smile at me. "You looked so peaceful lying there I hated to wake you. How you feeling?"

I shrugged. "Same old same old—tired, bored, tired, worried, tired, hungry, tired—"

"I get the point," he let out a short laugh. "Did Manoso call you?"

Letting out a yawn, I scooted into his arms, tucking my head beneath his chin. "He did. Are you really okay with me helping him?"

"As long as you don't do anything to jeopardize the health of the three of you, I'm fine. I know you're going stir crazy already."

"Leisurely lunches are fine and dandy, but I feel like my brain is going to turn to mush if I don't start using it soon."

"Speaking of which—how was your lunch today?"

I'd just opened my mouth to answer, when Joe's cell phone rang.

Taking a look at the readout, he scowled. "Finally. It's Keith Chapman."

"Put it on speaker," I quickly whispered.

He tapped a button. "Keith?"

"Yeah, it's me, Joe. You able to talk?"

"I'm at home," Joe confirmed. "What's up?"

"I'm not sure," he confessed, "but I think I'm willing to entertain your brother's story a little more than I was last night."

"Go on."

"Remember the buddy I told you about over in Vice—Al Walker? Well, Al thinks it might be time for the three of us to have lunch. You available tomorrow?"

I shared a look with Joe.

"I'll make myself available," he responded. "Where and what time?"

"There's a truck stop halfway between Newark and Trenton—the Mile Marker. You know it?"

"Sure." Joe grimaced at me, and I knew exactly what he was thinking. More than likely it was the same truck stop Paul and Stampler had used for their meet the night of Tony's arrest.

"We'll be there at Noon," Keith said. "I'd advise you to bring a fellow cop with you to serve as a witness to all that's said."

"Fine, but can you give me an idea of what's going on here, Keith? You're being awfully vague."

"I'm still at the precinct," he said in a lower voice, and Joe brought the phone closer so we could hear him better. "When I dropped by Vice to talk with Al, I learned our subject of interest has been on vacation since last Thursday. Walker and I made a swing by his home to check. Both he and the sister weren't there."

I watched concern wash over Joe's face. "You don't think they're on vacation, do you." It wasn't a question.

"We took a glance through the front windows. The place looked as though it'd been tossed."

"Ransacked?"

"Yeah."

"Did you go in?"

"Yeah. No one was there, and his truck's gone too."

"Did you report the break-in?"

"We did. But so far, we haven't mentioned your situation to anyone else in the precinct."

"Why's that?"

"Like you, we wanted to know if our people were planning a raid a week ago Friday night in Trenton, or if Stampler was working on his own. After telling Walker what was going on, he was able to get a look at his Lieutenant's case log."

"And?"

He paused. "There is no current investigation into Louie Nagel by the Newark Police Department."

_What? _

"You mean by Stampler?" Joe clarified.

"I mean by anyone—period. For now, Walker and I feel it's best not to share what you've given us, until we know a little bit more about the situation. The NPD is looking into the break-in as routine."

There was a moment of silence while Joe took in what he'd been told. "Thanks, Keith. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Later."

No sooner had Joe disconnected than I pounced on Chapman's announcement. "What does that mean—there's no investigation?"

"It means one of two things," Joe answered, pulling out of my embrace to sit up and move to the side of the bed. "Either Stampler has gone rogue and has been investigating Nagel on his own—"

"Or?"

Joe looked away painfully. "Or Paul made the whole thing up."

"It sounded to me like Keith and his friend are looking a little more seriously at the first option."

"I hope that's the case," Joe agreed. "But I'm not taking anything for granted anymore."

I leaned across the bed to where Joe was sitting on the edge. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I turned him to face toward me. "Hey," I said, looking up at his beautiful face lined with stress and fatigue. "It's going to be okay."

He nodded but didn't reply.

"Something else is bothering you. What is it?" I asked perceptively.

He seemed to conduct a debate in his mind for several long moments. Finally, he shifted on the bed, so that he was facing me directly. "I had another flashback today—this time while I was at work."

"Oh?"

"I was going down to grab something to eat from the vending machines, and somehow took a detour into the evidence room instead. I wanted to see Paul's watch again."

"Why?" I asked.

"The watch belonged to my father. Seeing it on the floor of your apartment today brought back a lot of memories—especially when I fell asleep in the evidence room."

"What kind of memories? And why does the watch belong to Paul and not Tony?"

Joe rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. "The watch _did _go to Tony after my father died, but he refused to take it. I can see him right now in my mind refusing to take it from my mother's hand when she offered it to him. Paul said he'd take it, because it was an expensive watch, and he didn't want to see it go to waste. As an adult looking back now, I realize Tony was hurt that Paul had chosen to accept the watch."

"And the memories?" I prodded.

Instead of answering, Joe stood up and held out his hand. "Feel like walking over to my mom's house with me?"

_What was going on with him? _"Alright—I guess."

We went downstairs to grab our winter jackets.

"What about Bob?" I asked, putting a pair of gloves in my coat pocket just in case.

"Not this time," he responded simply.

Taking my hand, we walked the few blocks to his mom's house in complete, albeit comfortable, silence. It was rapidly growing darker and colder by the minute. I had no idea what was going on with my husband, nor what had caused the sudden change in his attitude. But I sensed it was important, and in a rare moment managed to keep my curiosity under control.

When we got to Mrs. Morelli's house, I fully expected Joe to go up to the front door. Instead he led me around the back of the house to the dilapidated detached garage. Without warning, my heart started to pound.

"I don't want to go in there," I blurted nervously.

Joe stopped dead in his tracks.

"What?" I asked a bit defensively.

"You said those exact same words to me twenty-seven years ago." He looked dazed.

Reaching my hand up to touch his cheek, I asked, "Please talk to me, Joe. What's going on? What was it you remembered today that has you so shook?"

"I dreamed about the day I brought you in here to play that ridiculous "Choo Choo" game," Joe admitted in embarrassment. "You remember that day, don't you?"

"How could I forget?" I rolled my eyes, but it was doubtful he could see them. It was completely dark now.

He shifted gears without warning. "Cupcake, do you trust me?"

"Of course. _What_ is going on with you?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "But I feel like I need for the two of us to go back in that garage."

"Why in the hell would we do that? It's creepy in there."

"Please, Steph?"

I let out a huff. "Fine. At least this time you're not calling me a chicken."

Joe opened the door and stepped over the threshold, searching for the chain to the light bulb.

"Wait—shouldn't we tell your mom we're out here?"

"I don't think so," he responded vaguely. It was like his mind was already in another world.

He found the chain, and immediately a dim light illuminated the old building.

I was at a loss as to what to do for him. Moving across the room, I found an old milk crate and took a seat, waiting for him to give me some idea of why we were there.

After several minutes of silence, he finally spoke in a soft voice. "Have I ever told you why I brought you over here that day when we were kids?"

_Tread carefully, Stephanie. _"No."

"I was home alone with my father. It was Paul's eighteenth birthday, and he and Tony were out with their friends. My mother and sisters were at some event at the church—" A small smile escaped. "And you'd just sent me home, because I'd insulted your dreams of flying off of your father's garage."

I smiled back at him. "You crushed my spirit of adventure, Morelli."

"It didn't stay crushed for long though, did it," he retorted. "Anyway, I've never had a problem remembering the events leading up to the game. I know I was bored, I pitched some balls into the pitch back we had, and three of them rolled inside here. In the process of retrieving them, I found a girlie magazine on top of a milk crate. " He paused in embarrassment. "I'd never seen a naked women before."

"Were you shocked?" I asked, still feeling tentative on how much to speak versus simply letting him talk.

"Shocked that there was a whole magazine devoted to naked women," he agreed. "That was downright disgusting to an eight-year old boy, yet at the same time I was curious if girls had the same parts as women."

"Ah…so Detective Morelli went on the hunt."

He snorted. "Yeah, something like that. I couldn't think of any women to ask, so I decided to ask you. Only when I got to your house, I chickened out, and that's when the "Choo Choo' game was born."

"I see. So it was a modified version of 'doctor', huh?" I mused. I thought back to my childhood. "God, and how many times did I play _that _particular game with Carl."

Joe immediately frowned. "Costanza?"

"Yep. Back behind the dumpster of the parish. We'd go there during breaks for first communion practice."

He frowned even further. "Costanza saw parts of you _naked_?"

"Let it go, Morelli," I advised with another eye roll. "I don't understand why this has you so shook up? Do you feel you need to apologize for something? Because if so, I've already forgiven you a long time ago." I hoped we weren't planning to stay out there much longer, because the smell of the place was beginning to make me nauseous.

He shook his head and went over to sit on a stack of old tires. "It's about what happened after the game. Do you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Running into my father before you left?"

I closed my eyes and tried to take myself back twenty-seven years. "I think I remember maybe a glimpse or a shadow of him in my mind, but nothing more really. I _do _remember going home and getting bawled out by my mother about staying away from the Morelli boys—especially you."

"Smart woman," he noted sarcastically.

Moving over to sit beside him, I placed my hand on his knee. "Joe, _please _tell me what has you so upset."

His voice grew hoarse. "After you left, my father saw the magazine. He accused us of having looked at it and of touching one another. When I denied it, he backhanded me across the lip, and I flew back into these tires." He gave a little punch on the one beside him. "After that he kicked me in the shin."

My heart broke for the little boy inside of him, clearly still grieving a moment from so long ago.

"What happened next?" I asked softly.

Joe's voice hitched slightly, but his eyes remained dry. "He took off that fancy watch of his and laid it on the milk crate. He asked me if I knew what time it was. Said it was time to teach me a lesson. He—he pulled off his black belt and raised it to strike me."

I could barely breathe. "And did he?" I had to fight hard against the tears that were threatening. Joe didn't need me falling apart right now.

"I don't know!" Joe suddenly exploded, standing up and plunging his hands in his hair. "I can't fucking remember! I've spent all afternoon wracking my brain over what happened next, but I simply can't remember!"

"It's okay—"

"It's NOT okay," he spun around to glare at me. "Somehow I KNOW it's imperative I remember. But why? Why does it fucking matter what happened twenty-seven goddamned years ago?" His fingers were pressing hard against his scalp. "I feel like I'm slowly going crazy. All this shit keeps coming into my head, and I don't know why!"

"Come here," I commanded, holding out my hand to him.

He accepted my fingers and sat down hard next to me, immediately clutching his head again. "I thought by coming over here maybe it would trigger something else for me, but it's done nothing but make me more frustrated." He looked at me suddenly with a deadly serious expression. "Do you think I'm going crazy, Steph? I mean this shit is beyond bizarre. What if there's something wrong with me?"

Wrapping my arms around him, I pulled his head against my chest. "Oh Joe. God no! There's nothing wrong with you. I don't know diddly-squat about how the mind works, but I've heard about this kind of thing before—about people suppressing traumatic events in their lives for years until something brings it to the forefront of their conscience again. Maybe you should talk with someone."

"What? Like a shrink? Jesus!"

"Maybe not a psychiatrist, but I don't know—a counselor or something. What about Cheryl Sullivan?" I asked, mentioning the name of the therapist who'd been with us in Dr. Hamilton's office during the paternity test results.

"I don't know," he mumbled, still clearly shaken. "All I know is I can't sleep; I'm having trouble focusing on my job; I'm certainly not being attentive enough to you—"

"Stop," I ordered firmly. "I'm fine. _We're _fine," I motioned between the two of us. "Everything is okay with _our_ family. The problem is you've been riding a wave of stress for more than six weeks now. The honeymoon offered a brief reprieve, but since we've gotten back, your load's been higher than ever."

Scrubbing his hands one last time over his face, he dropped them to dangle between his knees. "You're right. And the sad thing is—all I want to do is to be with you and celebrate the twin miracles growing inside of you right now." He turned to face me. "Stephanie, I just want us to be happy. You'll never know how much I love you—how grateful I am you chose to be my wife—"

"But I _do _know," I smiled, leaning closer to brush my lips across his and stop his lament. "I know, because I feel the same way."

"Do you know I truly am sorry for what happened in this garage twenty-seven years ago?"

"Sure, I know, but it was a childish experiment. Forget about it. I guarantee you Carl saw a hell of a lot more than you did."

I knew that would get a rise out of Joe, and he didn't disappoint.

"Perverted asshole," he said with disgust.

I couldn't help but laugh at the look of jealousy on his face. It felt so good to be loved that completely by someone—by my once childhood nemesis now my lover and best friend.

"What do you think I should do?" he asked, suddenly serious again.

"I think you should talk with Cheryl Sullivan. I really do. Those flashbacks are trying to tell you something, and maybe she can help you sort through them for the answer."

Joe stood and pulled me to my feet. "I'll call her in the morning. Right now I need to get some food into my pregnant wife."

"You want to try and mooch something off of your mom as long as we're here?" I asked playfully.

His response was somber. "No. As much as I love my mother, I don't feel comfortable around her right now—around any of my family really. I feel like what I can't remember is somehow part of the reason why they kept me in the dark for so many years. It's hard to be with them feeling this way."

"I understand," I nodded. "So what do you want to do?"

"Let's go home, and I'll fix us something." He took one more look around the disgusting garage. "I'd really hoped coming here would help."

"It did."

He glanced sharply at me. "How so?"

"It allowed us to put one more thing in our past permanently to rest. Come on, let's go."

Pulling the chain for the light, we stepped out into the dark night. I fine mist was starting in the air.

"Jeez, first the cold, now the rain. November in Trenton, huh," I remarked absently.

Ignoring my comment, Joe put his arm around me and set off for Slater Street. "So tell me about lunch—at least what you feel comfortable in sharing." I could tell he was trying to get his mind off of his own problems.

"It was okay," I began. "Awkward at first—for both of us. I tried really hard to be myself. And I was pretty bitchy toward Ranger for being _himself_."

"How so?"

"I told him if he wanted to have a friendship with me, he needed to offer me more than just the surface. I was pretty harsh. I told him he was one dimensional."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. He just makes me so mad sometimes. If he could open his heart even a little bit, he'd have so many friends."

"Maybe he doesn't want any," Joe pointed out reasonably. "Some people like to be alone—especially people who have seen and done as much as I'm sure Manoso did in the military."

"But still. Just because you've been hurt doesn't mean you retreat into a hole for the rest of your life."

As much as I didn't like to keep anything from Joe, there was no way I planned on betraying Ranger's confidence by sharing his vague comment I hadn't been the first woman to hurt him—not unless Ranger told me it was okay. I'd do the same with information from Connie or Lula or Mary Lou. In order for this friendship deal to work, I needed to start thinking of Ranger just like one of my girlfriends. _Ha! Fat chance there! _But I _had_ been pleasantly surprised at how quickly the sexual attraction I felt toward him was fading away. What was left was a deep desire to know him as a person and help him to see there was so much life waiting for him to enjoy if he'd just open his heart to those around him.

"Pain does funny things to people," Joe responded quietly, and I knew right away he was back to thinking about Tony.

By the time we got back to the house, it was already approaching seven thirty and the mist was turning into a steadier rain. We were both soaked when we trooped inside the house. While Joe took Bob out for one last run, I went upstairs and drew a hot bath. I was already up to my neck in soap bubbles when Joe's voice came from the upstairs hallway.

"Steph, you want omelets or pancakes? There isn't time to defrost one of those casseroles in the freezer, and we desperately need a run to ShopRite."

Stepping into the doorway of the bathroom, he froze. "Wow," he said faintly after a short pause. He was watching my breasts move slightly in the bubbles. "I swear sometimes you take my breath away, Cupcake."

"Only sometimes?"

"All the time," he corrected, one side of his mouth curling.

"How about you come take mine away," I offered silkily, holding out my hand. "It won't be like the Jacuzzi in Barbados, but I think there's room for one more in here."

"What about dinner? You need to eat."

"Soon," I agreed. "But right now, I want you more than food."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

It was nine o'clock, and I was bone tired. It'd been a hell of a long day between lunch with Stephanie, meeting with Vinnie, working with Lula and now an unexpected evening meeting with a law firm in Trenton regarding an updated security system. All I wanted was to go home, drink that glass of whiskey I'd promised myself and go to bed. But instead my car seemed to have developed a mind of its own, and I soon found myself in front of The Pokey, the odious dive on Start Street Morelli had told me his brothers frequented more often than not.

Quickly removing my coat, tie and Rolex, I opened a couple of buttons on my silk dress shirt and ran my hands through my hair several times, trying not to look quite so business-like. It was raining harder now, and getting out of the Turbo, I knew I'd be lucky if the car was still there once I came back out of the hell hole I was about to enter. But my brain wouldn't rest tonight until I'd at satisfied my curiosity, and I wasn't about to force Lula to go back to her "roots" or Stephanie to sit in the car in an area like this.

Inside the dark, smoky tavern, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. As they did, I noticed it was a pretty full house for a Tuesday night. Patrons were standing in clusters at small high top tables, as the establishment didn't even offer chairs that weren't bolted down at the bar—too easy to be used as weapons in a place like this. A large group was gathered around the pool tables in the back. Some sort of tournament was going on—hence the crowd, and whoever was losing was getting louder by the minute.

At the bar, I signaled my finger for a beer and soon found myself with my back against the wall, scanning the room for the person I'd come to see. I didn't see her on my initial sweep, but I about fell over when my eyes lit upon someone I'd _never _have pictured in a place like this. Truth be told I never thought I'd see nor think of the woman again, but there she was sitting on a stool at the end of the bar, pad of paper and pen in hand, observing all the loonies in the room.

It was Cheryl Sullivan—_Doctor _Cheryl Sullivan—the counselor who'd been present with us during the paternity test results last Friday. _What the hell? _I barely recognized her—if it was indeed the same woman. Maybe she had an evil twin? Because for the little amount of attention I'd given to Dr. Sullivan last week, my impression had been of a professional in her early thirties, wearing a pumpkin-colored pantsuit, shoulder-length, honey brown hair and pale brown, almost golden-colored, eyes hidden beneath a pair of tortoise-shell glasses—_NOT _that I'd been paying close attention because I'd found her attractive. Observation was both a habit and an essential skill in my profession.

But tonight—tonight she looked like a fish out of water. Clad in a blue jean mini skirt over a pair of black tights, knee-high patent leather boots and an off the shoulder black, cashmere sweater, her hair was a mass of tiny ringlets and the glasses were nowhere to be found. She looked like a teenager playing dress-up on Halloween—_IF _it was the same woman, which I highly doubted. But what in the hell was _this _woman doing? What was with the pad of paper and the pen?

Putting whoever it was out of my mind, I searched the room one more time. _Bingo! _Over in the corner in a group of sleazy looking women stood the woman I'd come to see.

Lil Conroy.

Slowly pushing myself off of the wall, I made my way as unobtrusively as possible through the room, nodding my head to people I knew from the streets but never pausing to say hello. I didn't stop until I was directly in front of Lil and her friends. She was half-turned away from me, busy telling a tale of some sort to the group around her, thus she hadn't seen my approach. It was one of her friends that poked her in the side, whispering in her ear that some man was staring at her. Giving a little fluff of her teased-out, bleach-blonde hair before turning, her eyes opened in surprise when she saw my presence.

"Well, well—if it ain't my good friend Ranger," she smiled, slurring her words ever so slightly. Moving away from her friends, she came closer and ran her fingers up my chest. "Haven't seen your beautiful brown face in ages. Where've you been hiding, lover?"

"Around," I replied noncommittally. It made me sick to my stomach to think I'd once slept with this woman for a short period of time—back when I'd first come to Trenton. My life then had been nowhere near what it was now. I'd been struggling to find my way after having gotten out of the military and navigating the whole marriage and divorce from Rachel, plus having endured the pain of having left my baby girl to move north. Working for Vinnie, trying to get myself established, I'd been lonely and looking for something easy—and I'd found it in Lil.

"Too good to come around and see me no more, aren't you," she taunted. "Keeping company with that slut Stephanie Plum instead."

"Watch it," I rasped, but she was too drunk to heed the warning.

"Oops! I forgot," she giggled in a grating tone. "Can't mess around with her no more either, can you. Nope. She's married to the cop now." She stepped even closer, and the smell of her cheap perfume about knocked me over. "What's the matter, lover? Come to find Lil to make the pain go away?"

_God, how could I have been so stupid! Who had I been back then? _

"Won't Tony find it a little upsetting to learn his bitch is trying to two-time him on the side? But then again I'm sure I wouldn't be the first."

Her eyes widened briefly at the mention of Tony, and then it was if a curtain came down over them. "What do you want, Manoso?" she asked in a much harder voice.

"Let's talk about Tony," I suggested, leading her over into a more relatively private space in the corner.

"Fuck off."

"Lil, I'm not stupid. You know where he is, so why don't you do both of us a favor and take me to him tonight? He's not helping his cause any by dragging this thing out."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," she stared at me pointedly, never moving a facial muscle.

"Of course you don't. And every person in Trenton that's been telling me about your affair with Morelli is a liar, right?"

"That's right, lover. There are _lots _of liars in Trenton. You ought to know. Your woman was little liar too, wasn't she—sleeping with two men at the same time."

Tony had obviously been spilling his self-righteous, big brother anger over onto Lil for her to know this much about my relationship with Stephanie. I wanted to tear her tongue out for the things she was saying about the woman I loved, but it would only add fuel to her fire.

Ignoring the jabs, I continued with my questions. "When's the last time you saw Tony?"

"Tony who?"

"Are you hiding him at your place?"

She snorted. "You've seen my place. I could barely hide a mouse let alone a grown man. You're barking up the wrong tree. Now unless you've come to entertain me with a drink, I suggest you get the hell out of my way. I have work in the morning, and I want to have some fun with my friends first."

"Still working in Chief Rogers' office," I tossed out and watched her eyes goggle.

"How did you—?"

I stepped closer, invading her space, and lowered my voice. "I know _everything, _Lil. And I know you're in over your head if you think you're doing Morelli a favor by hiding him." I pulled a card out of my wallet and handed it to her. "You call me when you're ready to get smart. No sense in going to jail over a loser."

Turning around, I left her standing there with her mouth hanging open. _Good. Let her wonder. I was done. _I was tired and more than ready to go home. Setting my beer bottle on an empty table I was about to leave when out of the corner of my eye, I saw Deke Larson lurking over the woman at the bar whom I _thought _was Cheryl Sullivan.

Deke owned a chop shop a couple of streets over on Pitcher St. He was an oily snake—worse than Vinnie—and had zero ability in taking no for an answer. I had no idea what made me take pause. It was none of my business who this woman was or, for that matter, what she was doing in a place like The Pokey. Just by being here, she'd opened herself up to potential harm. And yet, something prevented me from simply minding my own business and walking out the door like I wanted to. Instead, I shifted direction toward the two of them.

"I told you I'm not interested, so step on, please," the woman said in an educated tone of voice. Her voice sounded like Dr. Hamilton's—the little I'd heard of it last Friday. Whoever she was didn't sound afraid in the least, which made me sigh inwardly. _Foolish woman._

Deke put a hand out to touch her springy curls. They were even tighter than Stephanie's. "A lady like you shouldn't be foolish enough to turn down a man like me," he drawled. He was drunk, which brought out another sigh. _Where the hell was the bartender—or for that matter—security?_

"Remove your hand," the woman insisted, standing up from the bar stool. She was a good six inches shorter than Deke, and my head began to shake at her idiocy.

I moved to step in.

"Listen, bitch—"

Before I could say or do anything, the woman had swung her arm up to deflect his hand, stepped on his foot with her boot, pivoted slightly and hauled Deke's ass over her shoulder and onto the floor. _What the fuck?_

She stared down at him gasping on the floor and then looked up—directly into my eyes.

"Oh. Hello, Mr. Manoso," she greeted, letting out an embarrassed laugh. "Fancy seeing you in a place like this."

_Fancy? Who the hell said, "Fancy"?_

_So it WAS her. _"Dr. Sullivan," I acknowledged, looking down at Deke. He was clutching his back and rolling on the floor.

She grabbed her pad of paper and pen. "Well, it looks as though I've overstayed my welcome here. I'll just head on home now."

I finally found my voice. "You're going to try and walk out of here without an escort? Where the hell's your car?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Down the street a couple of blocks."

"Are you crazy?" My eyebrows shot up. "You'll be killed before you even reach your vehicle!"

"_Not _that it's any of your concern, Mr. Manoso, but as you've just witnessed, I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

"You got lucky he didn't pull a knife first," I scolded. Jerking my head toward the door, I added, "Out there you more than likely won't be so lucky. What in the hell are you doing here anyway? This isn't exactly the type of place a woman like you should be in—"

I saw even less of those golden eyes as the squint grew more pronounced. "And exactly what kind of woman do you perceive me to be, Mr. Manoso?" she asked in a chilly voice.

"I _thought _you were a professional," I tossed back recklessly. _Why didn't I just shut up and leave? _"But clearly you're a foolish woman."

"And I thought _you _were a professional," she responded, with a slight lift of an eyebrow. "But obviously it's okay for you to be here?"

I felt my face flush. _Damn, that cool exterior of hers was irritating. _"I was here on business."

"As was I," she retorted. "Now if you'll excuse me—"

Deke had recovered enough to grab a hold of her leg from the floor. "You bitch—"

I quickly stepped on his arm, forcing him to let go, and bent down low near his face.

He peered up at me through inebriated eyes. "Ranger? Fuck man, is that you?"

"Shut up, Deke. I suggest you get your ass up and on the way home before you regret hanging around here any longer."

He scrambled to his feet. "Shit, I didn't mean no harm. You know me, Ranger—"

"Go," I bared my teeth, and he bolted for the door.

"Impressive," Dr. Hamilton noted in an almost clinical manner. "I'll have to remember the whole "teeth baring" routine next time I'm assaulted.

_Was she making fun of me? _

"I'll walk you to your car," I offered gruffly, fully expecting her to tell me to fuck off.

She studied me for a moment. "That would be fine," she agreed without thanks.

We stepped outside, and it was now pouring rain. _Shit. _"Here, give me your keys," I instructed brusquely. "You wait inside, and I'll bring your car around for you."

"Thank you, but no. I prefer to walk."

"In the freezing rain?" _This woman was nuts._

"I'm not made of spun sugar, Mr. Manoso—"

"Ranger," I broke in agitatedly before I could censor myself. "Call me Ranger."

"Ranger?" There went the eyebrow again.

"It's my street name," I grudgingly explained.

"A street name for a professional man—interesting dichotomy," she eyed me more closely. "Do you have an actual name?"

I hesitated. "Carlos."

She held out her hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Carlos. I'm Cheryl Sullivan." _Like I didn't know._

"Well, let's go get your car, Dr. Sullivan." I shook her hand, quickly releasing it.

"Cheryl—please."

My gut turned slightly. I didn't need this shit. _What had she been doing there anyway?_ "Fine. Let's go."

We dashed through the rain down to her car, which she'd indeed parked two blocks away. It was an older vehicle—probably about a 1995 Toyota Camry. Obviously family counselors didn't make a hell of a lot of money.

She saw me looking at the car, as she reached into the pocket of her jean skirt for the key. _And where the hell was her coat? _She nodded at the car. "It gets me where I need to be."

Shivering slightly, she unlocked the door and slid in. "Well, _not _that I needed the assistance, but thank you anyway for walking me to my car. Have a good evening, Carlos."

Just as polite as could be and ever so prim and proper. _Who the hell was this woman?_

"No problem. I'll just wait until you have it fired up and the doors locked."

She looked insulted I didn't trust her independence, but complied in silence. Turning the ignition, the battery made a feeble attempt to turn over. Once—twice—three times. By the seventh time, she slapped her hand slightly against the steering wheel in frustration. _Huh. So she did have emotion beneath that icy exterior of hers. _

"Problem?" I asked, not quite managing to keep a smirk out of my voice.

Glaring up at me, she huffed. "It does this sometimes. No worries. I have my phone here. I'll just call a towing company."

"Yeah, and you'll be lucky if they come tow it by tomorrow afternoon. Look, nobody intelligent comes to Start Street at night like this. You'll be lucky if there's a car left here to tow by tomorrow."

The glare grew fiercer. "I'm perfectly capable—"

"Come on. I'll give you a ride home."

"I beg your pardon?" _There was that prissy little doctor-voice again. _"I don't even know you. I'm not about to let you see where I live."

The rain was coming down in sheets, and I wasn't about to argue any longer. "Fine. Handle it yourself, lady. I'm going home."

I turned and started walking in the other direction, half-expecting her to be calling my name by now. Taking a few more steps, I stopped. _Shit. _I couldn't just leave her there. It didn't matter how good her marital arts skills were. It was no match for a gun on Stark Street. Spinning around, I saw her thumbing through the contacts on her cell phone.

"Dr. Sullivan, are you a psychologist?" I called out to her.

She looked up from her phone. "Yes. Why?"

"If this were one of your patients in this predicament, what would your advice be to that person?"

It took a moment, but a quirky smile spread across her face in the glow of the streetlight. "To not go to Stark Street on a Tuesday night by yourself in the rain with an unreliable car?"

The woman was nuts—but funny too. Her self-confidence was intriguing.

"And if the patient had received an offer of a ride from a stranger, but at least a stranger they'd met briefly before, what would your advice be?"

She thought about it while I stood there in the pouring rain. "It would depend on how well they knew the stranger. I mean did they meet at a friend's party and have a conversation? Did they work in the same office building and ride the elevator together every morning? Were they standing in line together at a Starbuck's waiting for a cup of coffee? Did they—"

"Dr. Sullivan, in case you haven't noticed, it's raining out here, and I'm freezing my ass off waiting for you to decide how well two fictitious people know one another. Let me save you some trouble. I'm offering you my assistance. What does your gut think you should do right now?"

The smile turned into a full-fledged grin. "Don't be an ass and accept the ride gratefully?"

"Good answer. Now can we hurry this along? I'd like to get home before tomorrow arrives."

She studied me for another moment, and then nodded to herself. Grabbing a bag from the car, she locked hers and followed me back down the street to where I'd parked the Turbo. Thankfully it was where I'd left it and still in one piece.

That damned eyebrow of hers went up again at the sight of the car, but she didn't say a word as I unlocked the door and helped her into the passenger's side. Once I was inside with the motor and the heater both going, I turned to her.

"Where to?"

"I live in an apartment complex over off of Lovell—Spruce Trails," she replied stiffly, naming a mid-level complex that while not a dump, certainly wasn't luxurious either."

The car took off, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her taking in the luxury of the vehicle. The silence extended for several blocks while we both dried out a bit. I tried minding my own business, thinking about what lied ahead with Stephanie and Lula tomorrow, but I the psychologist's presence next to me was hard to ignore. She smelled of rain and gardenias, the later of which was a scent I'd always associated with my mother, who loved that particular flower.

"You warm enough?" I finally asked, adjusting the heater yet again. "Where's your coat anyway?"

"It didn't work with my ensemble," she replied simply. _Ensemble? _Oddly enough, I had a feeling she was serious about her reasoning. I couldn't help but wonder if she was a frequent patron of The Pokey. Eventually curiosity got the better of me.

"Do you go to bars like that by yourself very often?" As soon as I said the words, I could've kicked myself. Not only was it none of my business, but I really didn't care—much.

"And if I said I did? What would your assumption be?" she challenged.

"No assumption," I backpedaled quickly. "Just making conversation."

"Mmmmm Hmmmm," she responded knowingly. "What would you say if I told you I'm doing research?"

_Huh? _"For?"

"A book I'm hoping to write. People fascinate me, Carlos—what they do, how they think, how they change themselves in order to adapt to whatever surroundings they may find themselves in. I'm hoping to capture some of those observations into a novel."

_A novel. _Somehow I'd pictured a dry, clinical textbook. "Uh—what's the novel about?"

She gave me a look. "Something that isn't really a "let me give you a lift" kind of conversation." Running a hand through her ringlets, she shifted the subject. "So how've you been doing since I saw you on Friday?"

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow, but more importantly, it was my turn to completely shut down. "That would be an off limits topic—_Doctor_ Sullivan."

She completely threw me off track by laughing loud and hard. Hers wasn't a tinkling little female giggle either like I'd picture a doctor of psychology to have. It was course and bawdy like a sailor's and just hearing it made me grin. It couldn't be helped—it was _that _contagious.

"Fair enough," she nodded and continued to look out the window.

_Wait. Where was the insistence that I needed to talk with her? Share my feelings? Open my soul? _We drove several more blocks while I waited for her to push a little harder. Instead she'd closed her eyes and appeared to be almost asleep. This had to be quite literally the strangest women I'd ever met in my life. Nothing she did made sense. She completely defied the boundaries between conventional male/female communication. _Damn it, she had me on edge wondering what she'd say or do next._

Two blocks later and we were on Lovell. Sure enough she'd fallen asleep. _What kind of woman trusted a veritable stranger like that? _If only I'd thought to get the street number right away, I wouldn't have had to wake her, but—

"Dr. Sullivan—Cheryl," I spoke quietly. _Nothing. _Reaching over, I touched her thigh and just about jumped out my skin at the energy that shot up my hand clear through my arm. I nudged her hard, and then pulled my hand back quickly. I didn't even want to think about what had just happened. _Thank God she'd been asleep!_

"Hmmm," she responded in a relaxed, sleepy tone.

"You need to direct me to your place."

"Oh, of course! Sorry about that!" she apologized, sitting up straight, brushing the sleep from her eyes. "It's the next drive. Second place on the right."

Thirty seconds later we pulled up in front of her unit. Gathering her things, she shifted in the seat and gave me a smile that lit up her whole face. She really was quite beautiful. No, actually more sexy than anything else. With her hair wet and curly like that, she reminded me of Stephanie, and—

Immediately my heart began to pound. What had I been thinking? I was completely in love with Stephanie. Christ, she'd only been married for a little over two weeks now. _Jesus!_

Thanks for the ride, Carlos. I sincerely appreciated your assistance tonight," she smiled and held out her hand.

It would be rude not accept it. Reaching out, I grasped her fingers and once again felt the electricity hum between our skin. Those crazy golden eyes of her widened briefly in surprise, but then her face slipped into a perfect mask of control—one I was more than familiar with.

"You take care now," she smiled and opened the door.

_That was it? _"Right. You too."

Without another word, she got out of the car and dashed through the rain to her front door. Giving me one last jaunty wave, she disappeared inside. I immediately backed out and pointed the Turbo toward Rangeman—my home, my security, and my sanity. Purposefully putting Cheryl Sullivan and tonight's bizarre turn of events out of my mind, I turned my thoughts to my conversation with Lil Conroy and what I planned to accomplish with Lula and Stephanie tomorrow.

Not thirty minutes later, I was home, showered and in bed—choosing to forego the promised glass of whiskey for a good night's sleep instead and relishing the sound of complete silence in my penthouse. What was the old saying—Silence is Golden? God, nothing could've been closer to the truth in my world right then. Closing my eyes, I finally succumbed to sleep and the first sense of peace I'd felt all day.

That night I dreamed of a woman with curly brown hair undulating over my body in the ultimate dance of seduction. But for the first time in three years, the woman fulfilling my fantasy didn't have eyes as blue as the ocean.

Instead they were gleaming gold.


	8. Chapter 8

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Happy Friday! Hope you all had a good week.

Thanks Julie for being so fast and consistent with your Beta assistance.

Welcome to several new readers that have joined us recently and to EVERYONE who is continuing on this journey with me. Have a good weekend!

* * *

Chapter Eight

**Stephanie's POV**

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"I love you for asking, but I think it might be better if I go myself—at least this first time."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Joe had just called from work to let me know Dr. Sullivan had a four o'clock cancellation this afternoon and would be able to see him regarding the flashbacks/dreams he'd been having over the past several days and nights. While I wanted to be supportive of my husband, I agreed he needed to work with the counselor by himself—at least in the beginning. He was so used to keeping his fears hidden in order to protect me, it'd be a lot easier to open up and share if I wasn't there.

"Okay," I agreed, certain he'd surmised my relief. "But promise me you'll call if you change your mind. _And _you'll call me anyway after your lunch with Keith Chapman and Al Walker too, right?"

"I promise, if _you'll _promise to take it easy and let Ranger and Lula do all the work today."

A little growl of frustration escaped before I could stop it. "You have my word." _It'd kill me, but I'd stay out of the hunt._

"Good." He paused and then added teasingly, "Do I have your love too."

"Of course you do, goofball. Didn't I prove that sufficiently last night?"

His voice lowered to a husky rumble in my ear against the din of the bullpen behind him. "I'm afraid I forget awfully easily when it comes to things like that. Probably you'll have to show me all over again tonight. Maybe even more than once."

"I'd say you're incorrigible, Morelli, but really the word is insatiable."

He gave a little snort. "When it comes to you, Cupcake—never doubt it."

"Good to know. I'll rest up then. Love you."

"Love you too. Talk with you later."

No sooner had I disconnected when two taps on a horn from outside announced Ranger and Lula's arrival. It was precisely nine o'clock, and I couldn't help but grin at Ranger's obsession with punctuality. He was nothing if not predictable. Tossing RJ a couple of grapes, I grabbed my bag, gave Bob a kiss on the head, locked the house and headed out to his vehicle. Thankfully it had stopped raining sometime during the night. Better yet, it hadn't gotten cold enough to freeze all the precipitation on the roads. It was still chilly though, and I was glad for my warm jacket against another day of stiff November breezes.

Ranger had brought the Escalade, and I wasted no time in hefting myself into the backseat behind him, seeing as Lula was already occupying the front passenger's seat.

My first shock came the moment I laid eyes on my former partner in crime. She was in head to toe Rangeman attire, although I'd never seen a uniform quite like hers before. The heavyweight jacket covering her had literally hundreds of rhinestones hot-glued over the entire thing, making her look like she was the lead biker bitch in a motorcycle gang. Beneath it, she wore a black body suit that would have fit at least two Cat Women side by side and a pair of black combat boots. Her hair was piled up under a black Rangeman cap, and she had a pair of 'Men in Black' styled shades perched on her nose. For once she looked as tough as her talk.

After settling into my seat, I gave her the once-over and said by way of greeting, "Wow—where'd you get that jacket? That thing is killer, Lula!" I reached up between the seats to run my hand over it covetously, and then as an afterthought whacked Ranger on _his_ arm none too lightly. "How come _I _never got a jacket that slick when I was working for you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What—cars weren't good enough?"

"Isn't it iced?" Lula agreed, leaning forward to give me a better view of the back. "Took me practically all night to glue these babies on. Had to wait until Tank fell asleep, because he would've been a real Mr. Cranky pants about the whole thing. He surely gave me hell about it this morning! But it's all about style though, right girlie?" She lowered her voice to a pseudo whisper. "I don't think boss man here likes it. He's been a real Mr. Cranky pants too since he picked me up."

Ranger rolled his eyes. He still hadn't put the car in reverse. "Firstly, I didn't appreciate having to wait twenty minutes for you to finish getting ready. When I say eight thirty, I mean eight thirty."

"I said I was sorry, didn't I?" she slid her sunglasses down her nose and then pointed at the ball cap on her head. "Do you know how long it took for me to get enough gel in my hair to make it all fit underneath this thing? It'll be a wonder if my hair don't break into a bunch of twigs tonight."

"It doesn't matter. You don't go around wasting people's time—especially mine. And you've ruined a perfectly good Rangeman jacket. The point of black is to blend in—not stand out."

"_Hunh. _Not in my world," Lula argued, still looking over her sunglasses at him. "You should be happy I've brought a little style to your company. This here's a regular fashion statement."

"It's a statement alright," Ranger's teeth were practically grinding, as he tried to control his temper.

"I needed something to help make my new gun go "POP" when I bring it out today on Morelli's brother." Her eyes widened, and she looked back at me, completely chagrined. "Oops. Sorry. I didn't mean to insult your latest lover or nothin'."

"Har har," I gave her a withering look. "You got a new gun?"

"Hell yeah, I did. Check this out!" She reached into her black bag and pulled out a pink pistol and pointed it directly at me.

"Jesus Christ! Are you nuts?" Ranger cried, yanking her arm upward, so that the gun pointed toward the ceiling.

"_Hunh. _Are you _always _this testy first thing in the morning?" Lula wondered, giving him a disappointed frown. "Steph knows I ain't gonna hurt her. Ain't that right, girlie."

My heart hadn't quite stopped pounding yet, but I managed to respond weakly. "Sure. No worries here. That's a hell of a gun." And it was too. I wouldn't mind having a gun like that. Something about it just screamed, 'don't mess with this bitch'.

The way Ranger had talked on the telephone the day before I'd somehow pictured finding Lula cowered in the corner of the car in fear of him. He'd made it sound as though he was desperate for my assistance. Instead Lula seemed perfectly normal to me.

"If we're done with this foolishness, can we get serious now?" Ranger demanded, finally backing out of the driveway. "I want to find Morelli's brother as soon as possible, so I can get back to the sanity of my own life."

Lula piped up, "I'm ready for action, boss man—just as soon as we stop to get us some breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Ranger echoed in disbelief.

"Well, yeah. You don't expect me to go out chasin' a hardened criminal like Morelli without bulkin' up first, do you? I got to get me some sugar and protein and all that shit first, right Steph?"

"I could eat," I nodded my head agreeably. _Who was I kidding? _Thanks to the Zofran, I could _always _eat nowadays.

"We are _not_ stopping for breakfast," Ranger fairly growled. "Quit fooling around, and let's get to work." He paused, and then added to me, "Unless you really need something right now."

I couldn't help but appreciate how sensitive he was being to my pregnancy, despite the babies not being his. "I can wait a while longer."

"_Sheesh!" _Lula muttered. She appeared upset I'd been given special consideration but remained silent.

Somehow I had a feeling this was going to be a long day.

Ranger turned the Escalade onto Hamilton and handed a file folder that had been sitting on the center console to Lula. "Here are some photographs of all the key players to this mess. Did Tank brief you on the situation last night like I asked?"

"Mmmmm hmmmm," Lula let out a defiant snort. She was still sulking over the 'no breakfast' edict.

Holding the file folder in order for me to see too, we memorized the various photographs labeled for all of the people involved—Tony, Paul, Jason Meachum and his gang, Lil Conroy, Myra Flowers, Louie Nagel, Brian and Jessie Stampler and Bulldog. _Wait—Bulldog?_

"What's with the picture of Bulldog?" I asked aloud.

"We're covering our bases," Ranger explained. "You need to be familiar with all of these faces, particularly the ones you don't know. Be aware at all times."

"Where we goin' right now?" Lula piped up, her neck steadily moving back and forth as she looked out the window at all of the fast food places we were passing on our way to wherever it was we were headed. "There was a Mickey D's back there," she pointed out uselessly.

"Lil Conroy's place," Ranger answered her initial question, completely ignoring the rest of her statement. He sounded formal, businesslike and completely focused on the task at hand.

I noticed he wasn't even using his GPS to navigate. He obviously already knew where Lil lived. _Hmmmm…now why would that be?_

"I stopped by The Pokey last night," Ranger went on, "and spoke with Lil directly. Naturally she claimed not to know anything about the situation with Tony, including where he's hiding, but I think it's worth a look around her place anyway."

"We goin' in to look around?" Lula asked innocently.

"_No_, we're not 'going in'" Ranger retorted in irritation. "That would be breaking and entering. We're only allowed to break into the homes of those whom we're trying to capture."

"_Hunh. _Those are some different rules than the ones Stephanie and I've been using all this time—ain't that right girlie?" She threw me a look that showed her displeasure with the idea of having to suddenly follow rules.

"Uh—" I fumbled. _What was I supposed to say? _It was true I'd sometimes circumvented the actual code of conduct for bounty hunting, but, Jesus, so had Ranger at times—with me!

Thankfully I was spared having to respond when Lula turned all the way around to face me. "You got anything to eat in that big ass bag of yours? You're knocked up twice over now. Shouldn't you be carrying snacks with you or somethin'?"

"I have a few things—"

"Well, quit hoggin' 'em already then. Watcha got back there? 'Cause Lula is starving, and seeing as Mr. I'm-too-good-for-breakfast here won't run through the freakin' drive thru, I guess I'm stuck with your crap." She tossed a glower in Ranger's direction. "Please tell me it ain't Saltine crackers or some shit like that though. I hate Saltine crackers. It's like chewin' paper. It ain't Saltines, is it?"

Whatever intimidation she'd felt toward Ranger was clearly _l-o-n-g _gone.

"I don't remember what I shoved in here. Let me take a look," I mumbled, my head half buried in my bag. I pulled out a three boxes of raisins, some Goldfish crackers, an apple, two packages of fruit snacks, a jar of peanut butter with a spoon and a king-sized Snickers bar.

Lula looked sickened. "What the hell is all that shit? It looks somethin' you'd give a kid at church to keep 'em quiet during a sermon. Well, except for the candy bar. Give me the candy bar, will ya?"

"No," I said, automatically pulling it out of her reach and back into the bag. "That's my treat for later."

There went the sunglasses down the nose again. "You don't be needin' to eat that candy bar, girlie. You're gonna be fat enough as it is in a few more months. No sense in adding fuel to the fire."

Evidently Lula didn't know you don't mess with a hormonal woman. "I said no," I retorted definitively.

"You don't expect me to eat—"

"Oh for the fucking love of God!" Ranger whipped the Escalade into The Donut Hole and slammed into a parking space. "Go!" he informed Lula, shooing her out the door. "Go get a fucking donut before I change my mind and kill you both."

"Can't we just go through the drive—?

Her voice dropped off after taking another look at Ranger's face. "I'll be right back," she said and scampered out of the vehicle.

"Why exactly am I here again?" I asked, as soon as she'd left. "She doesn't seem to be the least bit awestruck by you. I thought you said I needed to be a buffer and a translator?"

Ranger turned around and gave me a look that would have caused most people to pee on the spot. "I don't know why she's suddenly all mouthy like this when she barely spoke two words to me on the way to your house. Obviously your role has changed. Your purpose _now _is to keep me from strangling her. Do you understand me, Eliza? You keep her focused, or I swear I'll say to hell with this whole goddamned farce. And if I do, _your _husband is SOL—got it?"

I swallowed hard. "Got it. But you've got to understand. Lula—"

"I don't have to understand anything but the job at hand." He cut in brusquely. "Task one is to train her to be capable of going after any level of FTA. Task two is to find Morelli's brother and bring his ass back to jail. That's _all _I care about in this fucking mess." He looked at me again, and his face softened slightly. "That and keeping you safe."

I smiled back uncertainly. It was like walking on egg shells with Ranger lately. "Okay. I'll see what I can do with Lula. So what's the deal with Lil Conroy?"

Immediately a shutter came down over his eyes. "What about her?"

_Hmmmm…another questionable response_. "You went to see her at The Pokey. You know where she lives. What's the back story there?"

"I told you yesterday I know her."

"But you didn't say _how _you know her."

"Nope. I didn't," he responded, and I knew the door had been slammed shut on that exploratory conversation.

Clearly, we hadn't progressed as far in our friendship quest as I'd hoped.

"Well did anything interesting happen while you were at The Pokey?" I asked curiously.

Not only did another door slam shut—this one harder and louder—a wave of some emotion akin to guilt passed over Ranger's face before his mask was firmly set in place once more.

"Nothing of importance," he said, shaking his head firmly.

Lula ruined my chance of asking anything else. She was back in record time carrying a large bag filled with donuts. "I got you one too, Steph," she offered, digging through the bag. Out came a bran muffin. "And I got this for you," she offered to Ranger.

His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, and I gave him a pointed look. _Take the muffin. _I knew this was Lula's way of offering an olive branch.

"Thanks," he muttered and with only a slight grimace, took a bite.

On the other hand, I was waging a moral debate of my own. Did I take the donut or not? I knew one donut wasn't going to kill me, but last week when I'd passed through The Donut Hole, I'd lost everything I'd eaten later in a street gutter. Of course that was before the Zofran, but then what if my babies didn't like donuts? What if I ate one and couldn't stop. Lula and I've been known to eat half a dozen donuts or more in one sitting on _multiple _occasions. _Aargh!_ This parenting business was making me crazy, and I wasn't even technically a parent yet.

She handed me a Boston Crème, and I was done for. Ignoring Ranger's watchful gaze in the mirror, I bit down and about had an orgasm on the spot. _Omigod—it tasted good!_

I'd eat the apple later to make up for it.

"Okay, NOW can we get down to business?" Ranger asked, trying to keep his impatience under control.

"Let's roll," Lula agreed.

On the way, Ranger and I worked our way through each person of interest involved in this nightmare, discussing possible scenarios and rehashing all I'd told him the previous day at lunch. Throughout the process, Lula didn't say a word, despite my efforts to include her. The longer she remained silent the stiffer her body language became.

Ten minutes later we were parked outside Lil Conroy's house. She lived in a two-bedroom, rundown bungalow out south of Trenton on Route 29, overlooking a private swamp near the larger Trenton-Hamilton Marsh. There were no neighbors around her other than a similarly styled home about three hundred feet down the other side of the road. With all of the trees surrounding the place, it made for a dark and sinister-like setting.

"You think she's home?" Lula finally spoke, a touch nervously. "Shit, who'd want to live this far out of town—and especially a woman on her own? Look at that swamp out there. One wrong step, and you'd be a goner."

Suddenly the thought of staying in the car didn't seem all that disappointing to me.

"She's probably at work," I answered. "Lil has a regular job with a local temp agency.

"Well, let's find out if anyone's around." Ranger double-checked his gun and opened his door. "Lock it behind us," he ordered me.

Little did I know a set of eyes was already watching our every move.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

Dealing with Lula was going to be my undoing—I just knew it. I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on with her. When we'd left Tank's place earlier—_after _she'd kept me waiting for twenty minutes—she'd not said a word to me during the entire ride over to Stephanie's place. But as soon as her former partner had climbed into the car—_Whamo_—nonstop aggravation. Her constant jabbering was annoying at least and downright maddening at worst.

And Stephanie—God, it'd taken all of my self-control not to let on how uncomfortable I'd felt seeing her this morning after my run-in with Cheryl Sullivan at The Pokey the previous night. Stephanie had only been married for two weeks. My heart was nowhere near healed from having lost the chance to ever be with her again. I couldn't imagine another woman occupying my thoughts at this point in my life. _And yet what the hell had been the deal with that dream? _I'd barely slept after waking from it, and now I felt not only irritable but off my game as well.

Shaking my head slightly to clear it, I spoke in low tones to Lula. "You take the front, and I'll take the back. I don't see Lil's car here, but that doesn't mean she's not home. Take a look in the windows around the house and meet back here in five minutes. Is your gun ready?"

"Ready," she confirmed with a solemn nod.

I could see Tank had already done some fairly significant training with Lula the week of Stephanie's honeymoon. To my surprise, she'd done a great job yesterday at the shooting range, and even now I could see that once she got past all of her silly foolishness, she appeared to be quite serious about bounty hunting.

Signaling her to begin the search, I snuck around to the back of the bungalow and looked inside what turned out to be Lil's kitchen. While not a pigsty, the place certainly wasn't up to OSHA standards either. A single place setting of dirty dishware was left over on the kitchen table from breakfast, and as far as I could tell, no one else appeared to be staying with her.

Turning around, I surveyed the backyard. The house was on top of a hill, which led down to the huge swamp. Lula had been right in her assessment—one wrong step and a person could be lost out there forever. It would make a terrific place to hide if it weren't so damned cold out. Nobody could handle being out in these temperatures at night without some form of protection.

Moving back around to the front of the place and checking every window along the way, I found Lula standing in the driveway making notations on a small pad of paper.

"What're you doing?"

"Makin' notes about what I saw, so I'll be able to look back in case I forget," she responded almost shyly, not even bothering to look up from her task.

_What the hell?_

"Oh?" I couldn't have kept the surprise out of my voice had I tried.

"Yeah, it's a trick Tank taught me," Lula nodded, and then jerked her head toward the house. "I didn't see nothin' unusual in there. How about you?"

"No. Let's go down to the neighbor's house and see if anyone's home."

Motioning to Stephanie what we were doing, Lula and I walked the short way down the road to the identical bungalow on the other side of the road. After several hard knocks, an elderly woman of about eighty-five came to the door and opened it a fraction with the chain still locked. She was wearing a cotton candy pink bathrobe around her thin frame and curlers wrapped in toilet paper around her head. The look she gave us was a cross between fear and frustration.

"If you're selling something, I don't want it," she said right off the bat, scowling at us both. And if you're looking to rape and rob me, I've got a gun." She made a point of showing us the tip of her revolver through the chain.

Lula and I immediately stepped back.

Pretending to look behind me, I hissed softly. "Lose the sunglasses and talk."

She immediately complied. "No ma'am, we ain't here to do neither." She swallowed hard. "My—uh—partner here and I are just lookin' for a little information."

"Information?" she repeated skeptically. "What kind of information?"

I raised my hand slowly and pointed down the road at Lil's place. "It's about Lil Conroy's place. You know Lil?"

"Yes, I know her." The old woman's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you want with Lil? She's a nice girl—never caused no trouble. Are you with a SWAT team?"

"No," I shook my head, trying my best to appear nonthreatening.

"Then what's with those crazy black get-ups? You 'bout scared me half to death."

"I apologize," I offered sincerely. "We're fugitive apprehension agents, and we're not looking to cause any trouble for Lil. We're just wondering if you've seen any unusual activity over at her place during the past couple of weeks. In particular, have you seen any men going in and out?"

She gave us a fierce once over again with her stern gaze, and then harrumphed. "Hold on." Closing the door momentarily, she reopened it moments later minus the chain but still holding the gun. "Who'd you say you are?" she demanded again.

"We're bounty hunters, ma'am," Lula explained proudly. "We're lookin' for Tony Morelli." Pulling his profile shot out of her bag, she added, "You seen this guy around Lil's place lately?"

"And why on earth would I tell you this?" her eyebrows arched disdainfully. "I don't even know if you're who you claim to be. What's this man done? Are you searching to kill him? What's a bounty hunter anyway?"

"What the hell does it matter?" Lula shot back, and I sighed inwardly. "You've either seen the guy or not. Which is it?"

"Well!" The woman stiffened her spine. She was about to slam the door shut.

Quickly intervening, I placed my hand on the back of Lula's neck in what looked like a friendly gesture but in reality covered a warning squeeze.

"Mr. Morelli is wanted by the police, ma'am. My partner and I are being paid to help recover this man," I explained further.

The woman grudgingly studied the photograph and us. "Can't say that I've seen him." She paused and then added with a shoulder shrug. "But I can't say that I _haven't _either. Lil's always got a parade of men going in and out of the place. I've stopped paying attention a long time ago."

I gave her an easy smile. "No problem. We're just hoping for anything that might help us."

"I got nothing for you, 'cept if you see Lil, tell her to stop burning so many leaves at night. The smoke smell makes my asthma act up."

"Burning leaves?"

"That's right—or whatever else it is. But that smoke smell is killing me."

I couldn't imagine Lil Conroy doing something as mundane as burning leaves. Handing her of one my cards, I said, "If you do see anything noteworthy, I hope you won't hesitate to give me a call."

"What do you consider noteworthy?"

"Anyone or anything suspicious," I clarified.

Taking the card, the old woman didn't respond, but merely shut the door in our faces.

With my hand still on Lula's neck, I said in a low rumble, "Rule number one of bounty hunting— never to lose your cool no matter how frustrated you get. It'll only make things worse for yourself in the end—plus you might miss out on important information."

She nodded contritely without response. _Where was her big mouth attitude now?_

"Let's head back to the vehicle and try the next place," I suggested. "We're getting the lay of the land today. Maybe we'll get lucky, but I'm more interested in feeling out all of the interested parties in this mess."

We walked back to where Stephanie was waiting.

No sooner had we climbed into the car than Lula's switch flipped again. "Damn, girlie, that was a close one! The old lady down the street had a gun, and, let me tell you, she wasn't afraid to use it. Boss man here almost had to whip her in line with his own piece! Too bad you had to miss it." She straightened her cap and put the sunglasses back on. "Gawd, all this sleuthin's makin' me hungry. What do you say we stop for lunch?"

Jesus, she was a regular Jekyll and Hyde. Alone with me, it was like pulling teeth to get her to say anything, but put the two of us with someone else, and she had diarrhea of the mouth! _What the fuck was going on?_

Before I could blow a gasket over her request for more food, Stephanie stepped in. "Lula, it's only nine forty five, and you've had at least half a dozen donuts on your own. I think you can wait a little while longer for lunch."

"_Hunh! _What do _you _know," she set her jaw and turned her head toward the window.

_Okay…now what the hell had THAT been about? _Lula acted as if she were almost disappointed Stephanie was here with us, despite the fact the two had been working together for the past three years. Stephanie looked equally perplexed at Lula's attitude and more than a little hurt. Huffing slightly, she sat back in her seat, pulled the apple back out of her bag and deliberately took a bite.

Great.

_How nice that Stephanie had joined us. _Her winning rapport with Lula right now was going to be _so_ helpful to an already annoying situation. Between Stephanie's pregnancy hormones and Lula's apparent PMS, I was about ready to suffocate.

Grimacing, I mentally kicked myself. I should've told Vinnie to go fuck himself when he'd made this asinine suggestion in the first place. I should've forced him to follow the rules and send Lula in for training from the state in order to get her bounty-hunting license. The rules had changed so much in New Jersey over the past several years I wasn't even sure if Stephanie was still considered a legal bounty hunter. Clearly, Vinnie was trying to circumvent the system, and here I was helping him to do it. What would that mean for my own reputation?

Come to think of it, I should've told Morelli to go fuck himself as well.

A glance in the rearview mirror showed Stephanie viciously chewing on her apple and shooting daggers at the back of Lula's head. Just seeing her face reminded me of exactly why I'd said yes and set my resolve even more to get the job done—sooner than later—in order to ensure her safety.

Taking another fortifying breath to stem the irritation building inside of me, I spoke to the silent crowd. "Alright—let's go. Jason Meachum's place is next."

Stephanie's eyes bugged out, and Lula forgot about her sulking to turn and look at me.

I gave a slight jerk of my shoulder. "Myra Flowers doesn't have a known address, so there's no telling where she's hiding out. We'll stop by both of the Morelli homes later, but for now the rest of our suspects are linked to Meachum's house, and that's where we're going."

"Vinnie don't hold the bonds on any of them characters," Lula finally spoke.

"Doesn't matter. We have just as much right to bring them in as anyone else. But who does hold the bonds? Do you know?"

"I think it's Apex," she answered, naming another bond agency across town.

"Well, it's time to see if Meachum and any of his gang are at home."

"Don't you want to call in for back-up?" Stephanie piped up from the backseat. "I'm not going to do you any good sitting here in the car."

Lula cleared her throat. "Excuse me, _Mrs. Morelli_, but no one's asking you to help. _I'm _the one who's been asked to partner with boss man, here—not you. _I'm _his back-up."

Like a thunk on the back of the head, it finally dawned on me what Lula's deal was—she was jealous of Stephanie's presence. The fact I'd asked her to partner with me yesterday only to bring in Stephanie immediately afterward had been a blow to her ego. She considered her interference. And if what Tank and Stephanie had told me was true, she'd be upset her chance to work alone with me—her (shit) hero—threatened as well.

_God damn it! I didn't need this emotional bullshit. _I needed the reliable predictability and control of running Rangeman. I needed to get back to my _own _life and put these people behind me once and for all. I needed—

I needed to set the record straight immediately and get everyone focused on the task.

I'd offered my expertise to both Morelli and Vinnie, and if nothing else, I was a man of honor. I'd do the damn job and _then _be rid of all these people—although Stephanie was still up for debate.

Taking yet _another _deep breath, I said, "Here's the deal. Listen up closely, because I'm only saying it once." I shifted my eyes off the road to glance toward Lula. "Stephanie's here because she knows everything that's happening with her brother-in-law. That knowledge may be critical to the success you and I have on this job. Understand?"

Lula nodded reluctantly.

"Stephanie, you need to give Lula more respect. Tank did a hell of a job working with her when you were off cavorting with Morelli in Barbados. She's got some serious skills. They need refining, which is _my _job, but you need to understand she's no longer your assistant."

Stephanie bristled in the backseat, and Lula puffed up in the front, her eyes as big as saucers.

Firming my voice, I finished, "I need _both _of you to lose whatever female hormonal bullshit you've got going on right now and focus on the goal—to find Tony and Paul before Bulldog or Jason Meachum do. That's it—that's the sole goal. Understand?"

It was silent in the car for a few moments, and then Stephanie offered, "I'm sorry, Lula. I guess I'm having a hard time realizing I'm no longer a bounty hunter. It's more difficult giving up the hunt than I thought it'd be."

"_Hunh!" _Lula responded.

I thought she'd say more, but instead she reached back to grab a box of raisins out of Stephanie's purse. I was about to reprimand her again, when Stephanie threw her head back and laughed.

Good grief. I'd never understand those two or their friendship. But at least maybe we could get down to business now.

I'd just opened my mouth to say something about Meachum when Stephanie announced, "I have to pee."

_Jesus._

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Morelli, that's the craziest ass story I've heard," Manny Rodriguez shook his head as we climbed out of his POS police car.

Stumpy Davis got out of the backseat and joined us on the sidewalk. "It's definitely hard to believe, but I trust Detective Morelli. He didn't have to turn in that watch yesterday, and yet he did. That counts for something in my book."

Spoken like a fairly green detective—and one who'd developed a slight case of hero worship.

Great.

"I didn't say I don't believe him, kid. I just said it's crazy," Rodriguez retorted, whapping Stumpy across the back of his head lightly.

I couldn't help but smile, as we walked into the Mile Marker truck stop promptly at Noon. Neither of them had questioned me when I'd asked them to go to this meeting with Keith Chapman and Al Walker of the Newark Police Department. On the drive over, I'd told them Paul's story from beginning to end, as well as my interactions with Chief Rogers over the situation. While both were clearly skeptical of what I'd told them, they were at least both willing to listen to today's discussion with an open mind.

Spotting Keith and two men sitting at a table in the back, we made our way over to them.

"Joe," Keith stood and shook my hand. "Thanks for meeting with us. This is Al Walker, from Vice and Grady Schultz from Internal Affairs, NPD."

"Hey, Keith," I returned and, in turn, pointed at my men. "Manny Rodriguez, Homicide, and Darryl Davis, Vice, TPD."

Handshakes were given, and we all took our seats.

"I'd heard Trenton put Vice and Homicide together under your command, Joe. How's that working out for you guys?" Keith asked to get the ball rolling.

Sparing a glance at my two men, I shrugged. "Good enough. It's still so new it's hard to give an honest assessment."

"It's working out well," Rodriguez spoke up with obvious departmental pride and loyalty, and I couldn't ignore the boost of confidence it gave me to have the support of two fellow cops by my side.

Chapman nodded. "Good." Looking at _his _brothers by the badge, he said, "Let's order and then get down to business."

After the waitress had taken our order, I leaned forward. "If you've got IA here, I'm thinking you're starting to believe what I told you the other night—about what my brother Paul claims he's been involved with on behalf of your police department via Brian Stampler."

Al Walker, a tall, lean man, shook his full head of bright red hair. "Don't make assumptions, Morelli. Let's talk first."

"Fine," I said agreeably. "Tell me again what happened yesterday."

Keith started. "I told you at the restaurant Monday night I'd talk with Al to see what cases Vice had going right now. After giving him the gist of your brother's story, and knowing he personally wasn't aware of anyone currently investigating Louie Nagel, he went to his Lieutenant. While the Lieutenant was occupied with something outside the room, Al was able to get a look at the case assignment log, which showed _no one _from the Newark Police Department had been assigned to him or his drug house."

"Is it possible it was an off-the-record assignment?" Rodriguez asked. "Maybe something on a need-to-know basis."

Grady Schultz, from Internal Affairs, shook his head. "I've done some internal investigation, and I've smelled nothing of the sort." He was in his late fifties with a receding hairline, an exceeding belly and a stoic disposition like most IA guys.

"I'll explain Schultz's involvement in this conversation in a minute," Al said, "But first, let me finish explaining what happened yesterday. When I was in his office, my Lieutenant mentioned Stampler had decided to take some vacation time beginning last Thursday."

"How long did he request?" I asked.

"It was left indefinite. Stampler told the Lieutenant he had some personal business to attend to and that he had accrued an overabundance of vacation time that needed to be used immediately."

"When I heard that from Al, I got curious," Brian admitted. "I convinced him to ride over with me to Stampler's house. His car was gone when we got there, and after peeking in the windows, it was obvious someone had broken into the house. The place had been completely ransacked."

"So we went in to make sure Stampler or the sister weren't injured. Neither were there," Al spoke up. "We called it in and then did a thorough search of the place."

"Any idea when the break-in took place, who broke in and what he or she was looking for?" Rodriguez asked.

"Our guess is either Wednesday night or Thursday morning," Walker answered. "As for who and why—"

The waitress interrupted to bring our meals. Everyone immediately dug in after her departure, except for me. Instead I answered Rodriguez's question. "My guess would be whoever broke in was looking for evidence linking Nagel's drug business to Jason Meachum's in Trenton."

Stumpy had been quiet since we'd arrived at the restaurant. "Do you think it was your brother who broke in, Morelli?" he asked in a low tone. "Could he have been trying to see if Stampler kept his own records? He's got to be getting desperate to find anything in order to clear himself."

I jerked my head slightly. "Perhaps. It could also have been Meachum or one of his goons for that matter. They know Paul had a suitcase filled with information and have been hunting for it religiously since a week ago Monday. Our impression has been that Meachum assumed Paul was a Narc for Trenton. If he's somehow gotten wind it was actually for Newark and Stampler, perhaps he broke into Stampler's house to see if the suitcase was there."

"That's doubtful, Joe, and you know it," Rodriguez pointed out before taking a bite of his BLT.

"I don't know anything," I disagreed. "Except I _do _know Paul would have told me if he'd driven over to Newark to check out Stampler's house—"

"Why? Because he's shown himself to be so trustworthy up until this point?" he confronted me again. It took me by surprise until I realized he was trying to show our department was taking the responsibility to find the truth just as seriously as Newark. No departmental cover-up here. The TPD couldn't afford another black eye.

"You and I both know the story could just as easily—and more likely—be Paul was working with Meachum to make and distribute drugs. He lost the suitcase detailing the operation and has now cooked up this cockamamie story about Stampler and Newark in order to try and save his butt with the TPD," Rodriguez pointed out.

Al Walker broke in. "I have more information to consider."

My eyes shifted sharply to Walker. "What?"

"In our search, Keith and I came across an empty file folder labeled 'Morelli' in Stampler's office."

My heart began to pound. _Thank you, God!_

Our first break.

Keith continued, "The contents were nowhere to be found." My heart immediately sank. "Now granted the folder only had Morelli on it—no first name. We all know that wouldn't mean shit to a judge, so in the meantime, I went in to talk with Grady."

It was Schultz's turn to speak, "IA keeps files on all cops within our department. Stampler has never had an issue previously, but he _has _been characterized by the NPD as wanting to do everything by the book. He's very much a rules and procedures kind of guy."

I couldn't prevent a small snort from escaping. _Oh, how I remembered that from the academy._

"However, wanting justice to be served _also_ characterizes him," Schultz continued. "It's _possible _he may have gone to his superiors about Nagel's drug operation and was told there wasn't enough evidence to investigate. Given his sister's alleged history with drugs and _if _that usage was being supported by Nagel, there's a chance Stampler could have felt the need to go rogue in order to avenge his sister."

He went on, "And if that's true, it's likely he wouldn't have wanted to share what he was up to with anyone else at the precinct out of embarrassment his underage sister was using. In _his _eyes, it would make him look incapable of being a good guardian," Walker added. "If what Morelli is telling us is true, using Paul's past association with both Jessie _and _Meachum would have been too good of a connection to pass up—thus the reason for the blackmail."

"Blackmail's a nasty word, Al," Keith said in a low voice. It was clear he didn't care much for talking about a fellow cop behind his back.

Ignoring Keith, I posed a question to all three of them. "Does this mean you're all willing to at least entertain the idea my brother is telling the truth?"

There was silence for a moment, until Walker finally spoke up. "I am. I work with the guy every day and barely know him. Stampler's an island onto himself, and we all know that doesn't go over well with police officers. If he felt the only way to protect his sister was to go after Nagel himself, I believe he'd do it."

"Given his profile, I have to agree," Grady Schultz nodded.

"So what now?" I asked. "Will you take this to Chief Reynolds? Because I'm not getting anywhere with Chief Rogers at our house."

Keith tilted his chair backward. "Not so fast. No offense, Joe, because this situation really doesn't involve me other than making connections happen between all of you. I'm not in Vice or IA. I barely know Stampler. But I'll tell you—I have a hard time rolling on a fellow cop without a hell of a lot more concrete evidence."

"You aren't rolling on anyone," Rodriguez muttered. "It's questionable whether Stampler has committed a crime here. He's certainly overstepped the boundaries of what he's allowed to do without permission from his superiors and _our_ superiors. And, he'll definitely get in trouble for that by the department, but it's unlikely he'll be convicted of anything. Trust us—Trenton knows all about having _actual_ bad cops within the house."

He was referring to Dorsey and the whole Kennard nightmare, and he was right.

"I, for one, would like to hear the _entire _story one more time from your mouth, Morelli," Schultz suggested.

Letting out a weary sigh, I began to tell Paul's tale for what felt like the millionth time since his visit Sunday night. Once finished, I added, "I don't mean to speak poorly of Chief Rogers, because he's a good cop, but I know part of the reason he doesn't want to dirty his hands with exploring my story is because he's afraid he might not become the permanent chief of police."

"Internal politics has ruined more than one operation," Al Walker agreed.

"It's more than that, Morelli, and you know it," Rodriguez spoke up. "ALL of the evidence points to your brother—especially now that we found his watch at your wife's apartment yesterday. Now Rogers has proof that Paul probably killed Nagel in addition to this business with Meachum."

I started to interrupt, and he held up a hand, "Not that I agree with Rogers—because I don't. As farfetched as this whole thing is, I've worked with you long enough to trust your instincts. If you believe your brother's story—family loyalty or not—I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."

It was definitely a sign of how fatigued I was that such a statement would force me to swallow back emotion. I wasn't a sentimental kind of person—except maybe with Stephanie. But this loyalty—especially from a seasoned cop like Rodriguez—couldn't be overlooked or unappreciated.

Rather than embarrassing him, I gave a half smile and jerked my head in acknowledgement. Cops didn't 'do' sappy mush.

"What about Stampler and Jessie?" Stumpy spoke again. The kid was continuing to impress me with his listening skills and thoughtful questions.

It's a good question," Brian agreed. "Maybe they really did go on vacation."

"I'd be more inclined to think she took off," I put in. "She stole money from the BBQ place on Wednesday night. Maybe she ran away, and Stampler's out looking for her."

"Why would she run?"

"That's only one thing we need to find out," Walker answered before I could. "This is going to take investigation in both Trenton and Newark. It's time to work together on this."

"Which brings me back to my original question. Are you going to take this to Chief Reynolds?" I asked.

Brian and Al both looked at Schultz. As the rep for Internal Affairs, his opinion held a lot of weight.

"I think we should wait," he finally admitted. "I think we need to build a solid case before we involve the higher-ups in _both _counties. No sense in stirring up intergovernmental trouble unless we have proof."

His answer surprised me, but I was grateful for it. I had enough political bullshit to wade through in Trenton without having to try and navigate more of it in Newark.

"Who should take the lead on this?" Brian wondered. "Both counties have—and I use this word loosely—_logical_ reasons to be involved now."

"I think it needs to be Morelli's lead," Walker suggested. "He brought all of this to our attention; he has the most potential to gain new information about the investigation and he has the most at stake of any of us." He paused, and then added sincerely, "And I think after the hell he's been through and the loyalty he's proven to the badge, he deserves the chance to redeem his brother."

Without exception, everyone at the table nodded in agreement, and once again I felt my throat close. _God, I really needed to get those dreams figured out, so I could get some decent sleep and not feel so emotional. _There was no place for sentimental foolishness in police work.

"Thanks," I said simply. "Here's what I want to do—quietly. I'd like a chance for Stumpy and Rodriguez to go through Stampler's house with you just to see if another set of eyes sees something different. I'd also like access inside of Nagel's house, but we're going to need a warrant, which would mean getting permission from the higher ups. How do we handle that?"

"I think I can help you out there," Brian offered, trying to show his support. "I'll tell Reynolds you've been put in charge of Louie Nagel's death over in Trenton, and you contacted me for a favor to see if I could expedite a warrant. He'll go for that and work with a judge to get you one."

"I don't want any of you getting into trouble over my problems."

"It's our problem now too, Morelli," Walker affirmed.

"Okay—thanks. I appreciate all of this," I acknowledged. "We also need to try and track down Stampler and Jessie."

"I'll run Stampler's credit cards to see where and when he's been using them," Brian said.

"I could check over at the high school," Walker suggested. "Ask a few questions and see if anyone might have heard Jessie talking about going somewhere."

"I think she's in Trenton," Stumpy spoke up quietly.

_What?_

We all turned to look at him.

"Why the hell would you think that?" Rodriguez asked with a frown.

Stumpy shrugged. "I've been sitting here thinking. What's keeping her here? Her drug supplier is dead. And it would make sense she knew her brother put some form of pressure on Paul after she'd confessed to having an affair with him. Why wouldn't she want to talk to Morelli to see what's going on?"

Walker jumped on that, "You think it's possible _she _was the one to take whatever the hell was in that Morelli file in Stampler's home office?"

"Slow down," Grady Schultz warned. "Let's not jump to _any _conclusions here. We all know _anything _is possible in police work. But we need to be meticulous in our efforts to build a solid case and not let hunches overrule common sense." Turning toward me, he added, "You and I both know that unless there is a second set of evidence floating around somewhere, your brother is cooked—whether he's guilty or not. There's already enough circumstantial evidence for a jury to convict him."

I nodded grimly, my stomach churning around the burger I'd just eaten. _Tell me something I DIDN'T know._

"Right now all of the new potential evidence seems to be in Newark, so I'm willing to loan Rodriguez and Davis here to use however you see fit," I said. "I already have permission from Rogers to use additional manpower on the Nagel case. Meanwhile, I'll continue to work the investigation as well as navigate the political channels back in Trenton."

"We'll need constant communication," Schultz instructed and, at least for now, none of it should be written. This whole operation needs to remain quiet until we have proof, or else we're all going to be in danger of ruining our careers."

Everyone agreed, shook hands and paid bills. Soon Stumpy, Rodriguez and I were on our way back to Trenton. They were going to drop me back off at the precinct before heading to Newark to investigate Stampler's house.

Shifting in my seat, I looked at Stumpy. "I want to hear more about why you think Jessie might be in Trenton, Darryl." Rodriguez was driving, and he nodded in agreement.

Stumpy blushed. "It's probably foolish—"

"Nothing's foolish," I disagreed. "We need any and all theories."

Emboldened by my encouragement, he continued, "I just keep thinking about all of the 'what ifs'. We already know she confessed the affair to Stampler. What if she became aware of the fact he blackmailed her former lover? What if she found the file folder her brother was keeping on Paul's evidence against Jason Meachum? What if she caught wind of Nagel's death when she was went to buy some dope? What if she got scared and decided she needed to talk with Paul about everything that's been going on?"

"How the hell would she get to Trenton? She doesn't have a car," Rodriguez scoffed.

"A friend—a coworker—hell, maybe she even stole her brother's car—"

"Or took a bus," I interjected thoughtfully. "She stole that money on Wednesday night. What if she came home to find the house ransacked—got scared—and decided to head to Trenton to find Paul."

"Or was _taken _by someone," Rodriguez added quietly. "Shit, Morelli—there are a thousand different 'what ifs" here. We need concrete evidence."

"I know," I shook my head in frustration. "I need time to clear my head and think through everything." I also needed to call Stephanie. And then—

And then I needed to prepare myself to meet with Dr. Sullivan.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

It was deathly quiet in Ranger's vehicle.

Lula and I didn't dare speak or even look at one another—not after the blistering reprimand we'd just received from 'Boss Man'.

Okay, so it was going on one o'clock. And yes, we were just _now _making our way over to Meachum's house. But was it my fault I'd had to pee earlier? Or that Lula had needed to do something _other than _pee after eating all of those donuts. It'd made sense to stop by my house, since we were in the vicinity. Of course then Bob had felt as though _he'd_ needed to pee and something _other than _pee, so that had required taking him outside. How was I to know he'd break free and chase after Mrs. Rupp's Bishon—for six blocks? By the time we'd chased him down and corralled him back to the house, _I'd_ had to pee yet again. I can't help that my bladder seems to have shrunk to the size of a walnut!

We were just about to get back on the road when Lula had noticed all the running after Bob—or at least _trying_ to run—had caused her to sweat, which had made the gel in her hair start to run. Worse yet, it had caused the rhinestones on her new jacket to start popping off. That'd required all of us to troop back into the house for MAJOR hair reconstruction on Lula's part and me trying to superglue the buttons back on her jacket. By the time she'd put herself back together, it'd been close to eleven thirty. It'd only made sense to go have lunch.

Evidently it _hadn't_ made sense to my former mentor, because he'd nearly had a brain aneurysm at the suggestion we take a break to eat. If I hadn't been pregnant, there was no doubt in my mind Ranger would've told us both to go to hell and left us standing in his dust eating Saltines. Instead we'd ended up at Bossio's Deli. It was a compromise—well really more of an appeasement on Lula's and my part—to go healthy.

Once we'd _finally _gotten back on the road—following yet another potty break for me at the restaurant—Ranger had made it clear that under no uncertain circumstances—barring death—were we going to stop again until we'd made it to Meachum's place.

Ranger pulled up to the curb near the elementary school, which was just down the street from the drug house.

"Are you ready to get serious now?" he asked Lula, still fuming over the delay to his schedule. He picked off several rhinestones now stuck to his own coat and handed them to her with a glare.

"I'm ready," she confirmed in a subdued voice, accepting them meekly and shoving them into her pocket.

He found my eyes in the rearview mirror. "You stay here with the doors _locked_ at all times. Understand?"

"No problem." I was more worried about falling asleep after our big lunch than someone trying to harm me.

"Alright," Ranger gave a single nod. "Technically none of these guys are our FTA's, so we don't have the legal right to go inside. We're going to do this the same way as this morning only this time you take the back, and I'll take the front. Look in all the windows. If you suspect _any _danger, you get the hell out of there. Understand?"

Lula swallowed hard, but nodded firmly. "Got it."

"Be careful," I said to them both as they climbed out of the car.

No sooner had they left than my cell phone rang.

"Hey," I greeted Joe after seeing his Caller ID come up.

"How you holding up, Cupcake?" He sounded tired, but then again, he'd sounded nothing _but _tired for the past ten days.

"Getting sleepy," I admitted. "We just finished lunch. So how was yours? Did you learn anything important?"

"Nothing earth shattering, but we've got some good cross jurisdictional cooperation going, which is positive. One of my new guys—Davis—came up with an interesting theory. I wanted to pass it on to Ranger."

"What's that?"

"Darryl thinks it's possible Jessie stole the money from the BBQ joint in order to make her way to Trenton to see Paul."

_Whoa. _"Interesting. Why and how?"

"Not sure. We're working on it. But I need you all to keep your eyes peeled for Jessie when you're out searching for the others."

"Okay."

"Where are you anyway?"

I hedged momentarily as old instincts came to the surface. I knew Joe wouldn't be happy to hear the answer. "Um—we're checking out Meachum's place."

There was a long pause where I imagined he was doing some serious shoe studying. "And _you're_ in the car, right?"

"Buckled and bored."

"I like to think of it as safe and sexy better."

"Cute." I gave a little sigh of relief he hadn't fussed. "Where are _you_?"

"Just got back to the precinct. Stumpy and Rodriguez are heading to Newark to go through Stampler's place with Keith and his friend Al Walker. I'm going to check in with my other guys to see what needs attention before heading over to meet with Dr. Sullivan."

"You sound like you're distancing yourself from the Nagel case."

"Not distancing—just letting others take a crack at it for a bit. Sometimes when you're too close to the situation it's hard to see the big picture. I need to let everything just sift through my brain for a bit."

"Makes sense."

The whole time Joe had been talking I'd kept my eyes peeled on Meachum's house, trying to watch Ranger as he searched the front of the house. I couldn't see Lula out back, and after a moment, Ranger hustled around the side of the house toward the back as well. _Had something happened?_ The whole set-up was creeping me out, and yet there was a part of me that wanted to be out there helping my friends as well.

"Steph, are you listening to me?" Joe's voice buzzed in my ear.

"Yeah. I'm just trying to keep track of what's happening at the house too."

"Okay, well—"

"Omigod!" I suddenly exclaimed.

Lula came running around from the side of the house toward the Escalade. Her cap fell off as she chugged along, revealing spikes of greased hair sticking out like quills on a porcupine's butt. Worse yet, the rhinestones we'd just glued back on her jacket were popping off in every which direction. They looked like fleas jumping off a dog.

"What is it?" Joe's voice was sharp and focused.

"I don't know. Hold on." I unlocked the doors to allow Lula back in. "What's wrong," I demanded, as she tried to heave herself into the vehicle."

"Call—Morelli—now," she panted heavily.

"He's on the phone with me. What is it?"

"Dead body. In house. Ranger thinks—"

She paused to catch her breath.

"What. Ranger thinks what?" Joe asked tensely over the phone. "Damn it, Steph, did she say there's a dead body?"

"Yes," I said. "Lula, _what _does Ranger think?"

"He—he thinks—"

"Lula!"

"He thinks it's Myra Flowers."


	9. Chapter 9

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Well vacation is winding down for this sad girl. LOL! Only a few more days until I'm back to reality. Believe it or not, I actually managed to get another chapter in, although it was harder than heck between a case of writer's block and too many relatives around to think. -)

A huge thanks to my Beta Reader, Julie, for helping me through that block and getting back on path again. You are just SO good.

Welcome to any new readers and thanks to all who are leaving me feedback. Getting to meet new people is my favorite part of this whole process.

If you've not seen, Laura17 is back with her terrific Cupcake story called "Life and Times of Stephanie Plum". Be sure to check it out, along with Julie's "After Eighteen", Kim's "A Plum of Journey" and the MANY good ones by Animorphgirl. It's such fun to see new writer's coming out too, such as Forever Winter's "Twenty Seven Years".

Hope you all have a great weekend, and thanks for the continued support.

* * *

Chapter Nine

**Joe's POV**

It took me less than ten minutes to get from the precinct to Meachum's house—ten minutes too long as far as I was concerned. Despite having beaten every other emergency response personnel to the scene, I knew I still wouldn't have enough time to get the lay of the land before all hell broke loose.

Jerking to a stop behind Manoso's Escalade, I was out of my truck and beside the SUV in six long strides. All three of them—Lula, Ranger and Steph—were waiting inside the heated vehicle. Steph immediately opened her door and scooted over for me to join them.

"You okay?" I asked, running a hand briefly down the back of her head.

"_I'm _fine. But evidently Myra isn't."

"Shit, are you _sure _it's Myra?" I met Ranger's eyes in the rearview mirror. It was the first time I'd seen him since our confrontation at Dr. Hamilton's office last Friday.

His answer was to hand back a blown up mug shot of Myra Flowers. "This one of the gals you've been looking for?"

I looked down at Myra's pale face and stringy blond hair. _Fuck. _"Yeah."

"Then it's her. You'll obviously need a toxicology analysis, but my gut tells me drug overdose."

"You didn't touch anything when you went in, did you?" I snapped irritably. _God, this whole thing was such a fucking mess._

Ranger raised one corner of his mouth "Do I look stupid? I touched her neck long enough to ascertain whether she was dead or alive, and that's it. Lula didn't touch a thing. She didn't even go inside the house."

My eyebrow cocked curiously at that last statement.

Lula was sitting in the front passenger's seat, nervously eating a candy bar—eyes wide open and steadily moving back and forth between Manoso and me. But what the hell had happened to her? She was wearing some crazy ass sort of get-up, including a body suit, black heavyweight jacket covered haphazardly in rhinestones and a black cap perched awkwardly over a head of hair that looked as though she'd stuck her finger into an electrical socket. Worse yet, she had some sort of goo running down the sides of her face. Stephanie saw the strange look I was giving to her former partner and reached out to squeeze my hand, warning me not to say anything.

"Uh—Lula where were you when all this was happening?" I asked, heeding her silent advice.

"Out front lookin' in windows," she responded a tad defensively over a mouthful of chocolate. She was purposefully ignoring the possessive glare my wife was giving the candy. "Boss Man had the back. He found her through a bedroom window."

"You mind staying here with Steph for a bit? I'd like to take Ranger out to talk through everything that happened. I'd appreciate it if you'd flag down all the emergency personnel when they arrive."

"I could do that," she nodded. "Steph's lookin' a little scared out here by herself. I'll protect her for you."

I couldn't quite contain a small smile, despite the seriousness of the situation. Leave it to Lula to use Steph as an excuse for not having to go in and face a dead body or a houseful of law enforcement personnel. It was no secret Lula hated cops.

Stephanie opened her mouth to argue, and I gave her a subtle shake of the head. I really needed to talk to Ranger by myself before everyone else arrived. The two of us got back out of the vehicle and headed toward Meachum's house in silence.

We paused at the backdoor of the house. "Okay, give me the rundown."

For once Manoso didn't give me an ounce of shit before answering.

"It was just as Lula said. She took the front while I took the back. We were strictly looking in windows. There's a bedroom here in the back of the house. One peek inside showed a woman lying on the bed. There was no movement of any kind, and there was drug paraphernalia spread around her. From where I was standing, the woman appeared to match the description of Myra Flowers, so I jimmied the back door and went in to check on her."

"Did Lula go in with you?"

"No, she was still out front."

"Why didn't you take her as back up? You and I both know it was asinine to go into that house alone."

For the first time since I'd arrived, I saw heat and life in Manoso's eyes. "Don't _tell_ me how to do my job, Morelli, or I'm done with this shit." His gaze never left mine, as he admitted reluctantly, "I'm training Lula, remember? She hasn't been properly instructed on how to handle a zero-panic situation like that. After ascertaining I was alone in the house, and that it was indeed Myra Flowers, I went outside, haled Lula and told her to go out to the car and call you."

He showed me the window he'd looked into from outside. Sure enough there was Myra, lying sprawled on the bed, eyes wide open and staring. God, whatever had been pumped into her certainly hadn't brought a smile to her face in death. I didn't dare go inside until the rest of the crime scene unit arrived, along with Gary Docsa, another one of my homicide team members. He would fill in for Rodriguez and Stumpy, who were no doubt in Newark by now going through Stampler's house.

I shook my head bitterly. It pissed me off to witness death in any capacity, but I'd really wanted the opportunity to speak with Myra myself about her relationship with Paul as well as her work as an informant for Rogers and the TPD.

Forcing myself to focus on the here and now, I questioned, "And you're _sure _you touched nothing other than the back door handle and Myra's neck?"

"Correct."

My eyes narrowed suspiciously. The fact I'd questioned his ability again should've been enough to set him off once more. _  
_

"Why aren't you being an asshole about all of this?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

Ranger shrugged one shoulder. "You aren't worth the energy. I've got enough problems dealing with Frick and Frack in the car back there. Besides, I figure you're about to have enough shit piled onto you by your own boss. This pretty much slams the door shut on that prison cell for your brother."

"How you figure that?" I asked defensively, although I already knew the answer. _And he was right._

His arms folded across his chest. "Who has the biggest motive for wanting Myra Flowers dead?"

"It could have been Meachum just as easily," I pointed out, ignoring the tentacles of fear threatening to obscure my ability to think like a cop. "To my knowledge, Paul doesn't know Myra was the Narc for Trenton."

"To _your _knowledge—but what if he does? He could've figured out Myra was the one to turn him in to Trenton. That right there is motive enough to want to get rid of her out of revenge. Then again, maybe she even has more damning evidence against him, and he eliminated her before she had a chance to take him down further."

"And Meachum has just as much motive for wanting her dead if _he _found out she was Trenton's informant. Revenge wouldn't come fast enough for him if that was the case."

"You have no proof there, whereas the proof against your brother is a mile high."

"What else did you get today—anything?" I shifted gears.

"Yeah, another damned headache. Your wife and my new protégée are both pains in my ass."

I couldn't stop a snort. "Sorry." _Poor bastard._

We both knew I was lying.

"We took a look out at Lil's place, but it appeared clean. Her only neighbor was of little help. Claims Lil has men in and out of there all the time."

Suddenly something I'd heard years ago—long before Stephanie had entered the picture—drifted into the back of my brain. "Didn't you—"

"Ancient history, Morelli, and personal business. Leave it," Manoso's voice was low and cold.

"Done. What about Paul and Tony's places—you been there yet?"

"They're the next stops on our list. You have a key to either house? We can go inside Tony's legally, but not Paul's, since he's technically not FTA—that is unless you're willing to turn a blind eye."

_God, he was aggravating. _"Do it within the law, Manoso."

He made a sound to show his disgust. "Figures. At least if we had keys, we could use Stephanie as a "concerned sister-in-law" checking on the family."

I frowned. "I don't have any, but have Steph take you by my mom's place. She'll have them for both houses."

Ranger nodded once. "How about you? Anything new to help me?"

Normally I wouldn't be quick to share anything with Manoso. He was such a frickin' wildcard all the time. But the truth was I needed all the help I could get. I was running out of time with Rogers' willingness to keep me involved.

Hastily, I detailed my lunch conversation with Brian Chapman, Al Walker and Grady Schultz.

"I've got two guys going through Stampler's house right now. Even you have to admit it looks pretty hinky to have a file marked "Morelli" in his home unless Paul was telling the truth."

"The bulk of evidence is still against your brother, and you know it," he pushed stubbornly. I wasn't sure if it was out of form or because he truly believed Paul was guilty.

Ignoring him, I went on, "We're waiting on a warrant to go into Louie Nagel's place too."

He continued to stare at me, and it creeped me out. As long as I lived, I'd never understand what women—especially my wife—found appealing about this guy. His silent, mysterious ways were just goddamned weird in my book. Jesus, in the Burg, a man simply said and felt what he thought—not all this cloak and dagger bullshit.

The sound of sirens was close now.

"What about Bulldog?" I forced myself to ask. "Seen any sign of him today?"

"Negative."

"Alright. Thanks for calling me about Myra," I offered. "You'll need to make an official statement here in a minute, and then I guess you three can head on out. Your fingerprints are already on file, so you won't need to provide those."

"Mmmm Hmmm," he replied with an attitude that sounded suspiciously like Lula's. His own eyes widened when he heard what had come out of his own mouth. Were the two of them rubbing off onto one another already?

He turned to leave, when another voice—this one completely exasperated—joined ours.

"Morelli—what the fuck is going on?

Rogers.

Jesus, one sentence from my boss, and I could feel Manoso's headache making its way over into my own brain.

"Sir—"

Rogers waved his hands, doing a pretty damn good imitation of an Italian. "I'm standing in the bullpen giving an instruction when I hear dispatch contacting Docsa to meet you here for a possible DOA. Why the fuck didn't I hear this from you? Who the hell is in there?" The chief stopped waving long enough to notice Manoso standing beside me. "And what the fuck is _he _doing here?"

I sensed Ranger's plan to disappear and spoke quickly. "I hired Manoso to go after Tony."

"You _what?_" His silver and black eyebrows winged upward in disbelief. Using a finger to poke at his wire-rimmed glasses, he glared. "Who the hell gave you permission to do that?"

"No one. I hired him personally. He's not working for the TPD."

"You're damned right he isn't. And he shouldn't be working for you. Your job is to find out who killed Nagel—"

_Stay calm, Joe. _"No disrespect, Chief, but I know _exactly _what my job is—and isn't—and I'm doing that job to the best of my ability. But I refuse to stand back and allow the TPD to railroad my own brother—at least not when there are other leads in need of exploration. _Both_ brothers are out there somewhere, and I sure as hell would rather have someone I—" I tried not to choke on the word, "—_trust_ to find them for me, when I'm unable to do it myself out of fear of compromising the investigation."

I purposefully avoided looking at Manoso, who no doubt was thinking I was an idiot—again.

Every vein on Rogers' neck was bulging with barely restrained fury. "Who the fuck's dead?"

"Myra Flowers."

His eyes immediately went cold, flat—and pure cop.

"You're sure?"

"I haven't been inside to verify—no. I've been waiting for the team to arrive in order to eliminate more concern regarding my ability to remain impartial. Mr. Manoso—"

"You found her?" Rogers cut me off, while swiveling his attention toward Ranger.

"I did," Ranger responded lazily. His attitude bordered on insolent. Ranger's disdain for cops was only about a half notch less than Lula's.

"Report."

"My team and I—"

"Wait. Your team? What team?" he looked around angrily.

I interjected, "Stephanie is assisting Manoso, along with a former bounty hunting assistant of _hers_."

"For Christ's sake, Morelli—who's next—your mother?"

Conscious of Ranger's presence, I didn't move a muscle as I responded in a low voice. "I wouldn't laugh. I'll do whatever it takes to try and clear my brothers' names."

Rogers went immobile as well. "Is that a threat, detective?"

"No sir. We're long past threats."

He was prevented from saying more when Gary Docsa and the rest of the on-scene investigative team arrived.

"This isn't finished," Rogers muttered, still staring me down. "Let's go inside and see if Mr. Manoso is correct in his assumption that this is Myra Flowers." He pointed at Ranger. "You—stay here and give your statement to Detective Docsa. Do _not _leave the premises until I've given the okay."

Ranger merely raised an eyebrow.

Thank God once inside the house Rogers allowed me to do my job. The last thing I needed was having my position of authority undermined by the presence of the chief of police. Quickly giving instructions for the team to canvass the rest of the house, Rogers and I headed for the back bedroom.

We stepped inside, and he let out a string of profanities under his breath.

There was no question the woman lying on the bed was Myra Flowers—or that she was dead.

"Goddamn it, Morelli," he breathed, looking both disgusted and surprisingly shaken.

"You all right?"

Rogers ran a trembling hand over his mouth. "I promised that girl we'd provide her with protection if she helped us nail Meachum and your brother. Now look at her."

I wasn't about to smooth his feathers. If he was thinking he was responsible, he was absolutely right. It _was _his fault. The TPD should have had Myra in a safe house until Meachum was in prison. We should've been talking with her, asking her if there was any possibility Paul was telling the truth about his involvement with Brian Stampler. God, so much fucking opportunity lost by Rogers' political bullshit.

What would this mean for the case against Paul? While the evidence was certainly piling up against him, without Myra's testimony in court, there was at least a little more wiggle room than there'd been a day ago. The problem was I'd so far uncovered _zero_ concrete evidence against anyone else.

For the next half hour, the team worked steadily with me overseeing them—and Rogers overseeing me. It was awkward as hell having him watch me over my shoulder, but I kept telling myself to ignore him and concentrate on doing the job. Unfortunately I had to remind myself the same damn thing every five freakin' minutes.

Needing to cool my attitude, I stepped outside to find Manoso waiting for me.

"You done with your statement?" I asked him.

He did one of his little head bop deals and said by way of response, "A person of mutual interest is out front, standing like a milkweed in the midst of a rose garden.

"Who?"

"Bruce Jackson."

_Bulldog was out front? _

"Thanks," I acknowledged. "Perhaps it's time for me to pay him a little visit."

"Mind if a tag along?"

"Can't hurt. Let's see if we can shake something out of him," I agreed, leading the way back up front to where a large crowd of gawkers was standing on the sidewalk. Glancing at my watch, I realized the elementary school down the street would be letting out fairly soon. I needed to get things wrapped up here ASAP, before I had a bunch of little kids running around here as well.

Bulldog spotted us immediately. I was curious to know whether he'd try to slip into the wind or face us head on. Evidently he chose door number two, because he never moved a muscle upon our approach.

"Mr. Jackson—I'm Joe Morelli with the Trenton Police Department. You met my wife Stephanie at the Bonds Office the other day." I extended my hand to shake his only to have it disregarded.

Ranger didn't offer his hand, but eyed Bulldog with those assessing eyes of his. "Ranger Manoso."

"I know who you are, Manoso," Bulldog spoke roughly to Ranger. "I know your work, and I've heard some things from Vinnie."

He flat out ignored me.

"Speaking of Vinnie," I tried again to get his attention. "I understand you asked him to allow you in on the search for my brother Tony."

"That's right. And I'm gonna find that sumbitch too."

"Word is you only asked him to hire you for this particular job. As a cop, I find that interesting."

"You can find it anything you want. But you're barking up the wrong tree if you think I'm plannin' on tellin' you anything." He still hadn't looked me in the eye.

"It made me curious enough to take it upon myself and look a little into your background. I see you were a cop at one time too—out in LA, right?"

"You're wasting your time, Morelli. I ain't tellin' you shit. You'd be better off using all them words of yours to let your sorry ass brothers know I'm coming for both of them."

"Both?"

"That's right."

"There's only a bond on Tony. Paul hasn't even been arrested yet."

"And I think you've snooped enough into my background to know I don't really give a shit." _Finally _his eyes turned and met mine. "Who's dead in the house?"

I took a step closer. The guy was stupid, crazy or flat out arrogant to be talking to a cop this way._ Or was he all three? _Ranger and I both towered over the man, and yet he didn't seem to be fazed in the least.

"What are you up to, Jackson?" I lowered my voice. "What's your interest in my brothers?"

He bared his teeth and literally growled at me. _What the fuck?_

Ranger even seemed stunned. He tilted his head and said, "You messing with a cop, Jackson? I'd have thought you were smarter than that."

"You don't know jack shit about me, Manoso. And if you think _you're_ going to go in and take the money away from me by finding them boys first, you're crazy. I _always _get my prey."

"As do I," Ranger responded without a trace of emotion.

Bulldog scratched his bare chest between the denim of his vest. "You're a newborn compared to me. You ain't _that _good."

Before Ranger could respond, I jumped in, "How'd you know to be here at Meachum's right now?" My voice had lost all trace of casual interest. I wanted answers. "What do you know about all of this?"

"Is this official questioning?" he taunted, showing plenty of teeth again. "If so, you better plan on arresting me then, cause I ain't saying shit."

"I'm thinking about it, because you're starting to piss me off."

"Morelli!" one of the team members haled from outside the house. "We've got something."

Ignoring the summons, I continued to stare down Bruce Jackson. "Get the hell out of here, Jackson. I don't have room for a bad cop on my crime scene."

His eyes went black and feral. "You think you know so much, Morelli, but you know _nothing_."

"Go."

He finally broke eye contact with me, and following a fierce look at Ranger, warned, "I'm gonna find them sumbitches. Mark my words."

With perfect control, Ranger waited until Bulldog had turned away and walked several steps before calling out, "I don't lose, Jackson—ever."

Bulldog kept right on walking.

"Impressions?" I asked in an undertone.

"A fucking nutcase—but I already knew that by reputation."

"Why's he so singularly focused on my brothers?"

"I'll have Cal see if he can dig up anything deeper on him. Maybe I'll have Bobby and Lester try and tag him for awhile too."

My eyes rolled. "I realize financial payback is high on your list toward me right now, but you do realize if you bankrupt me by using all of these people, you're also bankrupting Stephanie, right?"

"This one's on me. It's personal now. _Nobody _questions my abilities."

Having said Stephanie's name, my eyes were instinctively drawn down the street to Manoso's car. Lula was clearly visible, slunk down low in the passenger's seat—more than likely trying to avoid all the cops running around. But I couldn't see Stephanie. The poor thing was probably taking a nap in the backseat. As happy as I was about her being pregnant, I felt lousy about her having to miss out on being a part of all this.

"Fine. I'll leave it to you. Just don't lose sight of the goal, okay? We've got to find Tony and Paul—and soon."

Chief Rogers joined us on the sidewalk. "Morelli, you're needed inside."

"I'm on my way in now."

Rogers sized up Ranger. "Mr. Manoso, I've reviewed your statement, and you're free to go as well."

Per usual, Manoso gave no outward acknowledgment of his inner thoughts.

"Tell Stephanie I'll call her later," I said, as Rogers left us. "I'd go over and say goodbye, but I think she's sleeping."

A ghost of a smile hovered around Ranger's mouth. "Want me to wake her for you?"

"Go to hell," I retorted, trying to hide my own smile as I moved past him. For once there'd been no heat behind either of our sentiments.

Back in the house, I found Rogers and Frances Ling, one of the field technicians, waiting for me in the bedroom next to Myra Flowers.

"We're ready to send her down to the ME for an autopsy," Frances reported. "But first I wanted you to see something. As you know, her sleeve was already rolled up by the killer in order to push the heroin into her."

I could see where Myra's sleeve had been cut above the elbow clear to her shoulder. The fabric was draped closed.

"Out of curiosity, I slit her blouse up to her shoulder and found this." She pulled the fabric apart to reveal an ugly, fresh bruise on her upper arm—similar to the one still fading on my wife's arm.

It didn't mean a thing, seeing as anyone could have done it, but seeing that bruise had my heart thudding in a slow, uncertain cadence.

"Any other bruises?" I cleared my throat. "Was she raped?"

"Upon initial examination—no," Rogers answered for Frances. "Ling found a couple of partial prints, but we don't think they're the killers."

"No, I believe whoever did this wore gloves," Frances agreed in a cultured voice. "There are no prints on the paraphernalia we found. The partials could indicate the victim had experienced intimate contact with someone else prior to the assault. The only thing we really know is that they aren't hers."

I kept staring at that discoloration on her arm. _Why was it disturbing me so? _Images of motion—bodies twirling around me—noise and confusion—all flittered through my subconscious.

"Morelli?" Rogers' voice caused me to shake my head, hoping to clear it.

"Yeah?" I noticed Frances had left the room. _Where the hell had I been mentally just now?_

He was observing me closely. "I was asking if you still feel capable of remaining impartial in this investigation?"

_Shit—get it together. _"Absolutely, sir. Nothing has changed."

"But it has, detective." He took a step closer. "Myra is one more link to Paul."

"Also one more link to Meachum," I countered calmly. For some reason, it wasn't Paul I was worried about right then. After seeing that bruise, all my mind could think of was Tony.

He let out a deep sigh. "Joe, you need to let me know if you reach your limit, okay? I'm trying to trust you—"

"Have I let you down yet?" I interrupted, an edge to my voice. _God damn it! How much of this shit was I supposed to endure?_

"No, but—"

"Then stop hounding me with all of this political bullshit and let me do the job."

I didn't fucking care any more if I sounded insubordinate. This whole deal was making me crazy!

To my surprise, he backed down somewhat. "Fine. Do the job, detective."

A clock on the nightstand next to the bed caught my eye.

3:15 p.m.

I was scheduled to meet with Cheryl Sullivan in forty-five minutes.

"I'm heading back to the precinct to give a few more instructions, and then I need to take an hour. I'll be back after that to see what else the lab comes up with."

Rogers was still trying to read me. "We'll talk later."

_Right._

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

It was blessedly quiet in the Escalade on the drive to Mrs. Morelli's house. Per Morelli's own prediction, Stephanie had been sound asleep when I'd gotten back to the vehicle. Lula had immediately opened her mouth to question me about what'd happened at Meachum's, but I'd motioned her to keep quiet, giving me time to think for just a damned minute. I had a lot to think about.

Because the truth was, I didn't know what the hell to think anymore.

Part of me wanted to believe Paul and Tony Morelli were the ones responsible for this mess, including the deaths of both Louie Nagel and Myra Flowers. I felt no shame in acknowledging the fact that their guilt would provide me with a small sense of revenge against Morelli himself for having taken away my chance at a 'happily ever after'. Everyone knew the Morelli boys were trouble. It made sense that years of drinking, womanizing and running around would have caught up to those two losers.

Unfortunately, if I were also being truthful, I'd admit there was a part of me that wanted Morelli to be right as well. Worse yet, there was a growing part of me that was beginning to believe perhaps he _was _right. Facts didn't lie, and the fact was—Morelli was a damn good cop. After what he'd shared regarding his lunch with the Newark boys, there was at least enough suspicion in me to really start thinking about the situation in which I'd found myself locked into. It was no longer a game—or a chance to stick Morelli for personal hurts. It'd become personal for me too thanks to Bulldog Jackson.

_Asshole_.

I could take a lot of things in life, and God knows, thanks to Morelli, I _had _taken a lot of things of late. But _no one _questioned my abilities as a bounty hunter and businessman. I simply WAS the best.

Using the GPS, I navigated through the Burg to Angie Morelli's place. Much as I hated to do it, I needed to wake Stephanie, because there was no way in hell I was about to ask that woman for the keys to her sons' homes. From what I'd heard, the woman was as intimidating as my own mother could be at times. Worse yet, maybe the crazy Vordo grandmother I'd heard all about would come to the door. I had enough troubles without some witch trying to stick me with 'the eye'—not that I believed in that kind of shit or anything.

Much.

Turning to wake Stephanie, I noticed Lula had fallen asleep too. She was slumped in the corner of the car, head stuck between the door and the headrest. Her cap had slipped down to cover her eyes, and she had bit of drool in the corner of her mouth. _Lovely. _No wonder she'd been so damned quiet on the way over.

"Alright, ladies—it's time to get back to work," I announced loudly.

Lula jumped, immediately opened her eyes and sat up straight, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her jacket. "I'm ready."

Stephanie, on the other hand, looked like she was in a coma.

"Ba—Eliza—wake up," I reached back and nudged her arm. _Christ, it was hard having to remember all of the rules of what I could and couldn't say to her anymore._

Nothing. She was tucked into a ball like a sack of potatoes.

"She told me earlier that when she has to nap, she's gotta nap," Lula offered, looking back at her former partner and shaking her head. "Said that pill she's takin' makes her get tired at the damnedest times."

_Crap. _"Go on up to the door then and ask Mrs. Morelli for the keys to Paul and Tony's houses," I instructed in my no-nonsense voice.

"Say _what?" _Her eyes bulged out like a bullfrog. "You crazy if you think I'm gonna ask that woman anything. She scares me worse than a cop—the Grandma too. I ain't goin' up there. It ain't in my job description."

"You don't have a job description."

"Well, I'm making one up now then, and the first rule is I ain't going up there. I'm the train-_ee_—you the train-_er_. It's your job."

"Listen—" I stopped cold. _Why was I fighting with her? _I was the boss. "Do it."

"Nuh-uh—Lula's no fool."

"How about Lula's fired?"

She glared at me for a long moment. Finally she relented partially, "Only if you come with me."

I almost growled like Bulldog I was so frustrated. But then I remembered we were wasting valuable time. "Fine. Let's go."

Despite my intention to show her how foolish she was being, we both sort of dragged our feet up the walkway to the front door.

Thank God Angie Morelli opened it.

"Yes?" she asked, looking at me curiously. Her eyes went from me to Lula. "Wait—I know you. You work with Stephanie. Lolene—right?"

"Yes ma'am," Lula responded in a subdued tone. "Only it's Lula. And this here is Ranger Manoso."

Mrs. Morelli's eyes went wide as saucers before narrowing to the barest of slits. "So _you're_ Ranger? I've heard that name—several times, in fact. You've _also _worked with Stephanie in the past."

It wasn't a question, and _goddamn it, _the woman was making me sweat in spite of myself. How much did she know about my 'working with Stephanie'? "Uh—yes—that's true."

She folded her arms across her apron. "How may I help you?"

She hadn't invited us inside.

"Uh—your son—" Her eyes widened again, and I quickly added, "—Joe. Joe sent us over. To get the keys."

"The keys?" She had eyes just like Morelli's—flat and assessing—only she wasn't a cop. She was worse.

A mother.

_Get a hold of yourself, Carlos. _Firming my voice, I responded, "Yeah—the keys to Tony and Paul's homes. Morelli has hired me to find them both and asked me to go inside for clues that might lead us to their whereabouts."

She shook her head. "I'm not giving you anything without talking to Joseph or, at least, Stephanie first."

"Steph's in the car," Lula blurted, and then looked as though she wanted to hide under a rock for having drawn attention to herself.

"She is?" Mrs. Morelli craned her neck to look over us. "I don't see her."

"She's sleeping in the backseat," I offered, wishing now I'd forced Stephanie awake in the first place.

"What?" She looked at us like we both were not in our right minds.

We were doing this all wrong. What in the hell had happened to me? One day among these people, and I was just as loony as they were—all of them.

I opened my mouth to say something intelligent, but Mrs. Morelli had already pushed me aside and was halfway down the walkway. "Stephanie—Stephanie, dear, are you okay?" She opened the door to the backseat and gasped. "Mother of God! Is she dead?"

I was back at the car in three seconds. "NO, she's not dead. She's asleep, I told you. Now about the keys—"

"Stephanie—wake up, dear," Mrs. Morelli began to pat her leg forcefully. "If you've harmed her or my grandbabies, so help me I'll—"

Thank God Stephanie opened her eyes a fraction. Looking up in a daze, she mumbled, "Angie?"

"Oh thank heavens! I thought this Ranger character had killed you!"

_Sure—and the first thing I'd do would be to bring her over here and show her off to you, lady—Jesus!_

"As you can see, she's fine."

"What on earth are you doing? You should be home in bed resting—doctor's orders!"

Stephanie winced as she realized where we were. Sitting up, she gave me a puzzled look. She hadn't heard Morelli instruct me to get the keys from his mother.

"I've been telling Mrs. Morelli here how Joe sent us for the keys to Tony and Paul's houses. He wants us to search there next." My penetrating gazed willed her to catch on quickly.

Understanding flickered in her eyes. "That's right," she told her mother-in-law. "Don't worry—I'm working with them—when I'm not falling asleep that is."

"Working with them!" she gasped. "Stephanie Morelli, that's just foolishness. You need to go home and get in bed this instant. Why, I'm calling your mother right now!"

"It's okay, Angie," she responded fairly assertively for someone who'd just awakened from a deep sleep. "Joe knows I'm here. We're both in agreement I need to be helping Ranger. You know as well as I do Paul and Tony need to be found as soon as possible."

Mrs. Morelli looked as though she wanted to protest some more, but complied at the mention of her two missing sons. Heading back to the house, she returned moments later with both the keys and—_Madre de Dios—_the grandmother too.

"Where is she?"

"Right here, Grandma Bella—in the back seat." Stephanie gave a little finger wave. She looked terrified and beat.

The old woman pushed past me and made her way over to where Stephanie was sitting, promptly putting her hands on Stephanie's stomach and closing her eyes. From what I'd heard about her, I'd fully expected humming or chanting or at least to see fire streaming out of her eyeballs. Lula had flat out disappeared. I was pretty certain she was cowering on the ground near the other side of the car.

"Grandma Bella—"

"Silence. I'm thinking," she shushed. "You and your babies are in grave danger. I see trees and water and—"

"Bella—enough!" Mrs. Morelli tried pulling her back.

"You _must_ beware, Stephanie," she implored. A stream of Italian flew from her lips, and then she sort of slumped against the car. "I must lie down now. Visions always tire me." She turned and swayed unsteadily back up the walkway. I had to wonder if the swaying hadn't been partially induced by too many sips from the communion wine.

No wonder Morelli was an idiot—he came from a whole line of them!

Stephanie looked pale as a ghost. "Do you think it's true, Angie," she whispered.

"For Heaven's sake—no! Don't give her another thought, dear. You're fine—I think." Quickly realizing she'd slipped, she hastened to add, "I'm _sure _of it."

She turned and faced me. "You make certain nothing happens to Stephanie or my grandbabies, _Mr. Manoso,_ or else _I'm _coming after _you_—and I don't need an 'eye' to do it. Got it?"

Without giving me a chance to respond, she handed me the house keys and marched back up the walkway, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"You can come out now," I muttered to Lula.

She hefted herself up off of the ground and back into the car. "That family is fuckin' crazy." She looked back at Stephanie. "Girl, mark my words—you goin' be as crazy as the rest of them before too long."

A glance in the rearview mirror showed Stephanie protectively rubbing her stomach, still looking uneasy at the grandmother's words. Perhaps she was beginning to wonder the same thing about herself.

I waited until she met my eyes in the mirror. "You know I won't let anything happen to you or your babies, right?" _God, if only they'd been mine._

She nodded, albeit not as comfortably as she once would have. Just one more reminder of how much the dynamics had changed between the two of us.

Fifteen minutes later we were on the other side of town where Tony and Paul lived near one another. The first stop was Tony's. Lula and I were halfway out of the car when Stephanie surprised us both.

"I want to go in too."

"No way," I immediately responded, shaking my head decisively. "That wasn't the deal, and you know it."

"I don't care. Here's where I can help more than anyplace else. I can't _stand_ doing nothing but sit here in the car. At least inside I might be able to spot something."

I glanced at Lula, knowing I had an obligation to train her. Stephanie's presence couldn't be allowed to get in the way of that.

"It's up to Lula."

My protégés' eyes widened, revealing that damned hero worship again. She looked over at Stephanie, and the two of them did some sort of mental telepathy thing before she said, "It's fine. My girl can come."

Letting out a sigh, I agreed reluctantly. "Alright—here are the rules then, because I don't need your husband on my ass any more than he already is. You stay here in the car, until we check the house out first. After that, you can come in and help us do a more thorough search."

She nodded begrudgingly.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

Standing in Tony and Angelina's place, it felt like a hundred years since I'd been there last, when in reality it'd only been ten days. Walking through the empty house had been almost creepy, especially in the kitchen where the empty box of donuts I'd brought over during my last visit still sat on the kitchen table. No doubt their brood of hungry children had devoured them. How strange that Angelina hadn't tossed the box before leaving town. In fact, the whole place seemed inordinately clean for a family having as many children as they did.

"I don't think there's anything here," Ranger commented softly from behind me. Why we all felt the need to speak in undertones was another oddity. "There's nothing to indicate where they might've gone, or any sign of Tony and Paul. Lula's already out front waiting."

Nodding absently, I said, "Let me take one last look around." There had to be _something._

I made my way back up to their bedroom and began to look through the nightstands on either side of the queen-sized bed. It made me almost sick to my stomach to be riffling through the personal affects of my new in-laws, whom I barely knew. There were books, magazines, nail polish, passports—all kinds of random items, but nothing to indicate where Paul and Tony were hiding.

Closing the drawer, I noticed a pad of paper sitting next to the telephone. It was empty, but you could see the faint lines where someone had written in pen on the previous torn-off page. In the drawer, I found a pencil, and began to lightly rub over the entire page.

"What're you doing?" Ranger's voice came from behind me, causing me to jump about three feet.

I had to wait for my heart to leave my throat before I could answer. "Seeing what this note reads."

"With a pencil?"

"Yeah, you rub over the markings like this, and then the message that was written on the previous page will appear."

Ranger's eyebrow went up. "Where'd you learn this—Nancy Drew?"

Giving him a haughty look, I replied, "Actually it was Trixie Belden, thank you very much. Nancy was way too high brow for this Burg girl, but Trixie—she was the bomb."

He just shook his head and looked over my shoulder to read the note that had appeared:

_Days Inn, __3000 Boardwalk At Morris Ave_

"What's that?"

Looking up at him, I replied, "It's probably where Angelina and Adrienne have gone with the kids to hide. I wonder how they're paying for it. Tony's been fired, and Paul hasn't been to work in days."

"Their parents?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. Angelina did say her parents have been helping her. I'm surprised they're not out looking for Tony themselves. They probably want to kill him for the agony he's put their daughter through. I'm still mad as hell at Angelina for using me and then lying about it, but I do hope they're all okay—especially the kids."

"You know them well?" Ranger assumed.

"I don't even know how many of them there are," I confessed sheepishly, embarrassed further when Ranger threw back his head and laughed.

"Come on, let's head over to the other house."

Fifteen minutes later, Lula gave me the all clear to head into Paul and Adrienne's two-story saltbox. There the scene was much different. It looked as though a tornado had run through the middle of the place, leaving a trail of destruction behind. Not to mention the fact that the house was freezing, as someone had left the sliding door off the dining room open a crack.

"You think this place's been ransacked?" Lula asked me, kicking aside a tin can of pop lying on the floor of the family room where we were standing. "I mean that door was open when we got here."

"Beats me," I admitted. "I've never been here before. It _is _strange about the door though."

"Who lives like this?" she complained, shoving aside a pile of magazines to sit heavily on the faded floral couch. "These people don't even buy good magazines. Who the hell reads _People_? I like _The Star _and _In Touch _better—more juice to the gossip."

I didn't even know how many kids Paul and Adrienne had, let alone their sexes and ages. _God, here I was about to add two more to the Morelli clan, and I still hadn't even figured out who all the other ones were yet. _

Ranger came down from upstairs to join us. "What do you think?" he asked.

"I don't know," I repeated. "It's hard to believe anyone would be this messy, but—"

"The place hasn't been tossed if that's what you mean. I'd know that right away. I'm more concerned about the timing of this mess. The upstairs is the same way—damp towels, clothes all over the bedroom floors, you name it."

"_Damp _towels?"

"Everything's fresh. But suitcases are gone, along with a good chunk of clothing too. Is it possible Paul and Tony are staying here?"

"No way. If you could've smelled Paul on Sunday and Tony the other day, you'd know they aren't staying anywhere with access to a shower. In fact, now that I think of it, Paul especially had sort of a funky odor to him. I've been thinking it was sweat all this time, but now I'm starting to wonder."

"What—like mildew? A dirty gym bag? A rotten potato?" Lula asked. She'd pulled out a little notepad and pen and was scribbling down our conversation.

"What in God's name are you doing?" I asked, not realizing how patronizing I sounded.

Lula's eyes narrowed threateningly, and Ranger jumped in before she could respond, saying, "Her job."

_Hunh. _I felt myself bristle again—at both of them. I definitely didn't want to be a bounty hunter any longer, _and _I no longer had sexual feelings for Ranger. But if I were being honest, I'd have to admit I was feeling rather jealous of Lula's new role in Ranger's life—temporary as it might be. He was teaching her all he'd taught me—and more. _Why did that rankle so? _Worse yet, why did it bother me so much that it was _Lula _receiving all this attention?

"How about it, girlie? What'd Paul smell like?"

Putting aside my jealousy, I gave it some thought. "Like decay."

Lula's eyes popped open. "You mean like death?"

I swallowed hard and then whispered. "I don't know."

"Well if the two senior Morelli idiots aren't staying here, then who else could it be?" Ranger asked. He started sorting through some fast food bags on the coffee table. "These McDonald's receipts are only a few days old. _Someone's _been here."

"Are they _still_ here?" Lula asked a touch nervously, reaching for her pink gun.

Ranger shook his head. "No. We've checked the whole place twice."

"Maybe we should come back after dark and check it again," I offered.

He consulted his watch. "It's almost five. Let's cut out for now. I need to go back to Rangeman and take care of my business for a bit. How about if Lula and I come back for you around nine o'clock?"

I thought of Joe and his appointment with Cheryl Sullivan. _Why hadn't I heard from him yet?_

"As long as Joe doesn't need me for something else regarding the investigation, I'm in. I'll call you if there's a problem."

"Let's go," Ranger instructed and headed out the door.

I started after him. "Come on, Lula." She was looking over the mess on the coffee table again.

"Just a minute. I'm lookin' for somethin' to get a piece of lettuce out that's been stuck in my teeth since lunch." She picked up a small piece of card stock and inserted it between two teeth. "Alrt, le'sgo."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

5:05 p.m.

I noticed the time on the wall in waiting area of Cheryl Sullivan's office and about went through the roof. _Fucking doctors—and evidently therapists too. _Did they think the rest of humanity had all the time in the world to just sit around and wait for them? Of course I'd needed practically every one of those endless minutes to fill out all the goddamned paperwork the receptionist had given to me. _Why the hell should a therapist care if I'd had the measles as a kid?_ I couldn't help but think of Manoso—the official leader of the time Nazis. He would've been out of here an hour ago.

I'd been able to do some work while waiting. Phone calls back and forth to the station had kept me apprised to the status of the Flowers' investigation. So far I'd heard nothing from Rodriguez and Stumpy over in Newark.

The door to Dr. Sullivan's office opened. Out came an elderly man with tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes followed by the psychologist herself. _Oh fuck. _No way in hell was that woman turning _me_ into some pathetic crybaby_._

"You be sure to call me, Mr. Haney, if things don't seem better to you by the end of the week. Promise?" she said in a soft, gentle voice. He nodded, and she patted him on the shoulder before he left. Scanning the now empty waiting room, her gaze met mine and immediately turned remorseful.

"Mr. Morelli, it's good to see you again. I'm so sorry about the wait. I promise you this is an unusual occurrence for me. Please—come into my office, won't you?"

She was once again dressed in a conservative suit—this one brown—and her straight hair was pulled back with a set of tortoise shell combs that matched her glasses. Walking into the small office, she gestured me toward a chair.

"Coffee? Tea?" she asked.

"No—thanks." I twisted my neck a couple of times, trying to relieve some of the tension. As a cop, I'd been in too many uncomfortable situations to count, but sitting there with someone who was going to explore my thoughts and emotions had to be about just about the most unnerving thing I'd ever faced. I felt like bug underneath a microscope.

She poured herself a cup of tea and took the seat next to mine. Crossing her legs, she looked at me expectantly.

"So how are you, Mr. Morelli?"

"Joe. It's just Joe, okay?"

She smiled, and her whole face lit up. "Sounds good. I hope you'll feel comfortable in calling me Cheryl as well. I find it helps to ease some of the more clinical aspects of this."

"Right."

"The receptionist who took your call this morning said you didn't give her any reason for needing the appointment. I assume it has something to do with the paternity test results. Are you and Stephanie doing okay?"

_Jeez, I should've explained sooner. _"We're fine," I hastened to assure her. "She's fine, we're fine—everything's—" I flushed slightly, "—fine."

Her head tilted curiously. "Okay—that's good to hear, although it wouldn't have surprised me if any of you were experiencing residual feelings—confusion, anger, disbelief, guilt—"

"We're working our way through them."

She sat back. "Okay. What about your phone call today then?"

_Here went nothing. _"I've been having some dreams lately," I began, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. "Of my past—you might say almost nebulous flashbacks."

She took a sip of tea, but didn't respond.

"They started last week during the stress over the paternity test, but they've gotten steadily stronger and more frequent over the weekend and now."

"What kind of dreams?"

"Flashbacks," I amended again. "They're really flashbacks to my childhood."

"Something in particular?"

"I guess." _God, this was uncomfortable. _Maybe I would've been more comfortable seeing a male therapist—or none at all.

She obviously sensed my discomfort for she immediately shifted tracks. "Morelli—Italian, right?"

"Yeah."

"Full-blooded Irish here." She smiled. "Catholic?"

One corner of my mouth lifted. "Is the Pope?"

She let out a laugh, and I about fell out of the chair at the bawdy sounds coming from such a polished, educated woman. My entire mouth lifted into a smile.

"Me too," she nodded. "I'm assuming then you come from a large family?"

I could feel the tension easing a fraction. "Two older brothers and two older sisters."

"Ah—the baby," she nodded again and pointed at herself. "That's nothing. Me? Four older siblings and four younger—I'm smack dab in the middle. Talk about needing therapy!"

_Whoa. _I wasn't sure how to take her down-to-earth manner. It hadn't been what I was expecting.

"Is Stephanie's family large too?"

Just hearing the name of my amazing and beautiful wife made me feel even stronger. _God, I wished now I'd had her come with me._

I shook my head. "Just a sister. I think she's having a hard time trying to figure out who's who in my family."

"I'm sure. Are you close with your siblings?"

The tension was back. "Not particularly—at least not anymore."

"You once were?"

Swallowing hard, I continued, "They're all a lot older than I am. The nearest is six years older and the oldest is twelve years older."

"That's a considerable distance."

"I've never been very close to my sisters. It's not that we don't get along; it's just our lives don't intersect much other than family gatherings."

"Okay."

"My brothers—" I could feel the guilt rising out of nowhere, "They were my whole world as a kid."

She took another sip of tea, patiently waiting.

"My mother is the greatest person in the world—the strongest too," I said with pride. "She worked her ass off to try and raise us kids up right. Tony, the oldest, and Paul helped as much as they could, but she worked long hours to take care of five children."

Having watched my mother, I can understand. "It's an incredibly difficult job," Cheryl agreed.

"Yeah."

She allowed the silence to linger for a moment.

"And your father?"

_There it was—the money question. _"My father was an asshole."

Her expression never changed. "Some are."

"He was an abusive drunk and a philandering womanizer."

It made me sick to my stomach to think I'd like nothing more than to have a drink myself right then—anything to help settle my nerves. But I was _not _my father.

"It's difficult to see someone who is supposed to love and care for you acting in contradictory ways."

"It didn't bother me," I denied hotly. "I didn't need him. Like I said, he was an asshole. I had Tony and Paul, who _more _than made up for things."

"That's the second time you've said "was" an asshole. Is your father dead?"

"_Where's Dad? I don't understand—where's Dad?"_

"_Your father's gone now, Joey. He's—he's gone to be with the angels, Mary and Jesus."_

I shook my head to clear the memory of my mother's voice. "Yes, he's dead, and I sure as hell know he isn't singing with any damn angels."

Her one eyebrow rose slightly. "I'll take your word on that, seeing as I didn't know him."

She was good—funny, charming and with a sense of humor similar to mine.

"How old were you when he died?"

My chest began to tighten. "Eight."

Both eyebrows were up. "That's young."

"Eight years too long, as far as I'm concerned." I heard my own voice sounding angry and bitter. I couldn't have stopped it if I'd tried.

"I have to ask, Joe. Were you abused by your father?"

"Which kind—sexual? Physical? Because he was a jack of all trades and spread that kind of love all around."

"You tell me."

_Control the anger. _"I was never sexually abused. I've confirmed recently something I always sensed as a kid. Both my sisters were sexually assaulted by Rocco."

"Rocco's your father?" she clarified.

"Yeah. Thank God there are no 'juniors' among us, because none of us can stand the name."

"You say you _sensed_ what your father was doing to your sisters?"

"My room was right next to the girls' bedroom. Often at night I'd hear the scrape of the doorknob and either Cathy or Mary, saying, "No Daddy."

I closed my eyes against the sound of that doorknob in my head.

"Did you ever question what was going on—with your mother or your siblings?"

"Every time I tried, it was stifled. I should probably tell you right now I'm considered the golden boy in my family."

"By choice?"

"No—by design. I've been intentionally kept in the dark all my life by the rest of my family about anything having to do with my childhood in order to supposedly become the 'best of the Morelli's. What a fucking joke!"

"That sucks."

She caught me off guard. I hadn't been expecting such heartfelt sympathy from her. _Wasn't she supposed to be impartial?_

Deciding I didn't care, I agreed, "It _did _suck—especially the more that's been coming to mind in recent days. I'm beginning to realize the depth of their deception. It makes me—" I stopped.

"What?" she primed. "Sad? Bitter? Angry?"

"All of them," I said softly, acknowledging verbally what I'd already known in my gut. I was hurting.

"Let's go back to your brothers for a minute," she smoothly steered us around to safer waters. "Tell me what they were like when you were young."

I couldn't stop the smile that crept over my face. "They were amazing to me. Tony taught me how to ride a bike; Paul was the one who practically got me through school—constantly pushing me to study despite my wild ways. Both of them were a constant presence at every sporting event I ever played in, especially since my mother was usually unable to come. She'd either have to do something for the girls or my father."

A little snort escaped. "They were also some of the worst influences on me when I was in high school. They gave me my first cigarette, my first beer, introduced me to the first girl I ever slept with. The Morelli boys had—and still do—a reputation in the Burg. I'm surprised you haven't heard of us."

"I'm from Boston," she deadpanned. "We had the Kennedys."

That earned a full laugh on my part. The woman was certainly intriguing—very much like Stephanie in the sense that she kept you guessing. _God, I couldn't wait to get home to my wife—to just wrap myself around her and forget this day._

"Earlier you made it sound as though you're no longer close to Tony and Paul. Is that true?"

"You could say I grew up, but they didn't. My hellion days ended the day I joined the Navy after graduation."

"The military will do that to you," she grinned knowingly.

"You served?"

"Four years—Air Force—after college. It was an easy way to use my degree and get some much-needed experience."

_Shit. _Who was this woman? She hadn't even written a thing I'd said down yet.

"Shouldn't you be taking notes or something?" I asked warily.

She pointed to her head. "Stop worrying. I'm just listening, Joe—not analyzing. Now back to your brothers. They didn't grow up?"

"No. They both married and have families, but they unfortunately chose to follow in the ways of my father—the drinking and the womanizing."

"How about the abuse?" she asked carefully. "Did they follow them there?"

"No," I replied adamantly. "They'd both suffered enough of it themselves, particularly Tony. They'd never hurt anyone in that way. But the drinking and the women hurt enough."

"True. Their wives have remained faithful?"

I shook my head disgustedly. "For whatever reason—they love them. It's messed up. I can't imagine ever cheating on Stephanie. She and the babies are my whole world."

Cheryl smiled. "The love you share is clearly obvious. Even during the short time I was with you both last Friday I could feel it."

"Thanks," I smiled a little embarrassedly.

"And your babies are going to be beautiful and very lucky—with two parents that'll adore them."

"Yeah," I sighed heavily. "Steph and I both feel lousy about Ranger though—that's Mr. Manoso," I clarified for her.

Her expression remained neutral. "I'd be surprised if you didn't. It was a highly emotional experience for all of you."

"It's complicated."

I found myself wanting to share, which surprised me, so I spent the next few minutes giving her a thumbnail sketch of what had transpired with Stephanie, Ranger and me over the past three years, including "Vordo" week, the lies and everything else leading up to last week's paternity test results.

"We need to find a way to bring closure to this whole thing," I finished, "because our jobs are all so interrelated. The sad reality is we all need one another. In fact, Ranger's assistance—awkward as it may be—has become vital to me right now."

She tilted her head again. "Why's that?"

Exhaling loudly, I leaned my head back against the top of the easy chair. "We're back to my brothers again."

"That didn't take long," she commented dryly. "For not being very close to them any longer, they certainly seem to be playing an important role in your life—at least in terms of how much they occupy your mind."

Another snort came out of me. "You don't know the half of it."

Knowing that she was bound by confidentiality, I proceeded to spend the next ten minutes telling her the story of Tony and Paul from beginning to end. I'd told the story so much in the past three days; I had the damned thing down pat.

"I recall reading something about that drug bust in the paper last week," she mused thoughtfully. "To be sure, this is hard on all of you, but I can only imagine how stressful it's been for you and Stephanie—just back from your honeymoon and then with all the paternity uncertainty—"

"It's a wonder I'm still sane," I finished for her, and then added carefully. "Sometimes I wonder if I still _am_ sane."

"Why's that?" she asked without a hint of anything other than curiosity.

I shrugged. "It's these fucking flashbacks. They're driving me nuts!"

"Tell me about them."

"It started out just being things like remembering all the stuff I told you earlier—how Tony and Paul were both there for me growing up; how I idolized my two big brothers—things like that."

"Go on."

"But in the past couple of days, it's not just dreams at night. It's little things. For instance, yesterday we brought in the watch I told you was found underneath Stephanie's bed. I went to the evidence room to look at it, because it was my father's, and I knew Paul had accepted it after he died."

"What happened in the evidence room, Joe?" her voice grew softer.

My heart began a slow thud. "Just seeing that watch—it—it took me back to a day when I was eight—"

"Eight?" she clarified.

"Right. It was Paul's eighteenth birthday, and Tony and him were out running with their friends. My mother and sisters were gone too. It was just my father and me at home."

The familiar fear of the dream caused the beating in my chest to increase. "I was goofing around in the backyard, pitching baseballs when three rolled into our detached garage. Inside I found a girlie magazine—the first I'd ever seen." My hands clenched the sides of the arm chair a little bit tighter.

"A real eye-opener, I'm sure," she noted sardonically.

"Tell me about it. I decided then I needed to know if girls had the same parts, so I challenged Stephanie to some stupid game I'd made up in order to see for myself."

"Doctor wasn't good enough?"

"No, evidently that game was reserved for her to play with another mutual friend of ours, whom I'm still contemplating beating the crap out of next time I see him. Anyway, I'd just chickened out and was in the process of sending her home when my father showed up."

She must have sensed the change in me, because she immediately said, "Take your time, Joe."

"Yeah—okay," I responded, already feeling myself slipping back into that garage mentally. "Steph ran home. My father wanted to know who she was, and I told him to forget about it. He found the magazine and accused us of looking at it. When I denied it, he backhanded me into an old set of tires on the floor." I could smell the rubber in my nostrils just thinking about it.

"It hurt."

"You're fucking right it hurt. He then accused us of touching one another. When I denied _that, _he kicked me in the shin."

"Fathers don't have the right to abuse their children like that," Cheryl said firmly. "You do understand that fundamental truth, right?"

"Of course I do!"

"Not everyone does," she insisted. "Did your siblings?"

"I—hell, I don't know! They didn't tell me anything, remember?"

"I remember," she replied calmly. "I'm remembering everything you're telling me. What happened next?"

My heart was like a kettledrum now, constantly throbbing a pulsing cadence. "He took off that damned watch—the one I told you about—took off his belt and told me he was going to teach me a lesson."

"And did he?" Cheryl's voice was whisper soft.

"I don't know!" I exploded, just like I had with Stephanie the night before. Leaning forward I pressed my fists against my eyes. "I don't fucking know! I can see everything so clearly, but I can't see what happens next."

"You were eight years old. It's hard to remember—"

"Don't placate me! I remember everything else. Why can't I remember the rest? For that matter, why the hell am I remembering all this shit now in the first place?"

"Is that a rhetorical question, or do you really want to know?"

I paused and looked at her in disbelief. "What the hell does that mean? Of course I want to know! It's why I'm here."

"I only say that because some people _think _they want answers, but really they don't. They just want the assurance they're not crazy. And I can assure you, Joe, you're not crazy."

It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. Those three words—you're not crazy—eased my mind in a way I hadn't realized I'd needed. I looked her in the eye.

"Why am I having these flashbacks?"

"For one thing, you're physically and emotionally exhausted. I knew who you were before I ever met you last week in Dr. Hamilton's office. All of Trenton knows Joe Morelli—the cop who saved us all from Luke Kennard, Mayor Bradley and all the crooked cops. That incident alone would've been enough for anyone's brain to be taxed. Add the stress of your relationship with Stephanie, fighting your boss over your job, getting married, plus all of the paternity stuff, and you have the makings of an emotional breakdown right there."

"So I _am _crazy."

"No—to the contrary. You're an incredibly strong person. Now you've been given this new stress with your brothers, the murders, your job, and your boss—do you see a pattern here? Other than your honeymoon, for more than two months your brain has had almost zero chance to rest. Emotional stress like that causes the brain to do incredibly bizarre things like what's happening now. Couple that with the fact you're finding out for yourself well-kept family secrets, and you can see why your subconscious is reacting the way it is."

"But what caused it in the first place?"

"How did your father die, Joe?"

_Wham._

The question was tossed at me from so far out in left field; it literally took my breath away.

"What?" I responded dazedly.

"Your father. How did he die?" she repeated patiently and kindly.

"He—well he had a heart attack."

"You know this? Or was that what you were told?"

"Both—I guess." The heart pounding was back. "Why?"

"Just curious. What do you remember about your father's death."

I could feel myself becoming more defensive. "I don't know—stuff."

"Like?"

"I remember the sadness. How everyone walked around for days, crying and carrying on—that is everyone except for my siblings and me. We were glad he was gone."

"What else?"

"I remember the wake and the funeral and the reception afterward."

"You said you were the golden boy and very protected. Who protected you during this time of mourning."

"I told you we didn't mourn," I snapped. "None of us kids did. Tony came and tried to see if I was upset, because it was my first experience with death, but I told him the truth—that I was glad our father was dead. He told me not to worry—not to think about it anymore."

"And did you?"

"I don't remember. I guess not, because I knew Tony would take care of Ma and me. He always did."

"So you've said. Where were you when your father died?"

I thought frantically. "I don't know—around I guess."

"Did he die at home? At work? In a hospital?"

"I don't know," my voice began to rise.

"Had there been a history of heart disease?"

"I don't know!" I burst out. "Why are you pushing me?"

"I'm showing you something here, Joe. Do you see it yet?"

"No, I must be an idiot, because I don't."

"The memories—your dreams and flashbacks—have been suppressed for twenty-seven years. Why is that?"

I was angry now. "I don't know, _doctor_. You tell me."

"No, think about it. Didn't you tell me your family intentionally kept you in the dark all of these years?"

"Yes."

"Why? Why would they do that?"

"I told you—because they wanted the best for me. They wanted me to be the first of a new generation of Morelli's—"

"_Pbbblltthh!" _She spit out a raspberry, and my mouth dropped. _What kind of therapy WAS this?_

"That may be partially the truth, she agreed, "but there's more. Think about it." She leaned forward in her chair, using her uniquely golden eyes to urge me on. "Why would you have such vivid memories up until your father's death and memories _after_ his death, but no knowledge of the _actual _death?"

My heart wasn't just pounding now; it was threatening to burst right out of my goddamned chest.

"I don't know—"

"Yes, you do. Why?"

"Because something happened," I whispered, shocked by how young and uncertain my voice sounded. "Something bad happened."

"What was it, Joe?"

"I don't know," I shook my head. "I don't remember."

"Are you scared to remember? Because it's okay—you're completely safe. I'm right here with you."

On the fringes of my subconscious, I could almost see and hear what I needed to know, but my mind refused to unlock the door. I realized now I wasn't certain if I _wanted _the door to be unlocked.

"I don't remember," I repeated dully.

Cheryl leaned forward and placed a reassuring hand on my arm. "It's okay. You don't need to remember right now. Take a breath."

I sucked in a lungful of air and forced myself to exhale it slowly.

"Something happened, and I don't want to remember," I forced myself to speak the truth.

"I agree," she nodded. "My professional opinion is that stress has brought this all on, magnified by the realizations you're having on your own regarding the depths your family went to keep you shielded for the pain your father wielded. There's a lot here, and we've only begun to scratch the surface."

"Do you think I'll ever know what happened?"

"I do, but it's not going to be by you—or me for that matter—pushing at it. More than likely it will occur at some unplanned, random moment, when something benign happens to trigger the memory."

"What do I do?"

"Stop fighting your subconscious, Joe, and, as I said, stop pushing it too. You'll remember when you're supposed to remember. It's as simple as that. Probably not what you wanted to hear, huh?"

"Not really, but I'm relieved to know I'm not certifiable."

She actually laughed. "Far from it." Adjusting her glasses, she asked, "How much of this have you shared with Stephanie?"

"Everything I can remember. I don't want there to be secrets between us any longer. We've had enough of those in our history."

"Good. Don't be afraid to lean on her just because she's pregnant. It'll be important to her to know you trust her with the innermost part of you—your fears."

"That's hard," I admitted. "I've spent three years trying to keep her safe. I'm not used to being the one who needs protection in our relationship. And with my family, I've been protected too much. It's all so messed up."

"And it's all so _mixed _up as it pertains to the very real danger your brothers are facing right now. Just as you feel residual guilt regarding the anguish Mr. Manoso is feeling—"

"I didn't say I feel guilty about him." Truth was, I didn't know _what _I felt about him anymore.

"My mistake," she backed down immediately. "My point is it's only natural you _might_ feel some residual guilt about what your brothers are enduring after all they did for you. Add that to the anger you feel about the lifestyle choices they've made and the stress of doing your job impartially, you _are _facing a lot. Let Stephanie share the burden with you."

"I'll try," I agreed. "Do you want to see me again?"

"I'm happy to work with you if you think you want to dig further into this subject. We could even explore hypnosis if you'd like. It's a proven and excellent form of therapy—"

"NO WAY!" I rushed to cut her off. "I'm not into that kind of hocus-pocus shit."

She couldn't hide a smile. "While I can't say I agree with your assessment of hypnosis, it doesn't matter. Truthfully, I believe the answer's going to come on its own. It's _after _the breakthrough occurs that I can be of the most value to you."

"Yeah?"

She took a business card from the table beside her and scribbled on the back. "I don't usually do this, but here's my home phone number. When that break through comes—day or night—I want you to call me, okay?"

"Alright." Checking my watch, I realized it was nearing six thirty. Stephanie would be worrying. I stood and held out my hand, smiling ruefully. "Thank you. Probably like so many others, I dreaded coming here today, but it really did help."

Taking my hand, she stood and gave it a firm shake. "It was my pleasure, Joe. Please give my best to Stephanie."

"I will."

Five minutes later I was in the Avalanche and headed toward the precinct, cell phone already to my ear.

"Joe!"

"Hey, Cupcake. Sorry I haven't called sooner. I didn't even get in to see her until after five o'clock. We just finished."

She hesitated a fraction and then plunged ahead. "How did it go?"

"It was good," I replied and heard her sigh with relief.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I want to tell you all about it, but I want it to be face-to-face. I'm going to need to go back to the precinct. Think I could buy you dinner first?"

"I don't say no to food these days, Morelli," she retorted, trying to lighten my mood. And I loved her even more for it.

"Can you meet me at Pino's?"

"Ten minutes."

"I'll see you there. Love you."

"Love you too."

Disconnecting, I thought about trying to reach Rodriguez and Stumpy, but then tossed the phone aside instead. Cheryl Sullivan had been right. My stress level was off the chart, and I needed time to decompress for a moment.

I needed Stephanie.


	10. Chapter 10

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Back from vacation and finally through all the loads of laundry, grocery shopping, etc. Whew! And I'm keeping my fingers crossed I might just be through my bout with writer's block, thanks in part to my sweet friends Julie and Kim.

Speaking of Julie, thank you, dear girl, for once again providing me with excellent Beta content. You're amazing!

There's a new Cupcake story on the boards, in case you missed it. Check out "There Forever" by SomewhereInWonderland. She has a great beginning.

Thanks to everyone for the comments you left after the last chapter. You are all appreciated so much.

* * *

Chapter Ten

**Steph's POV**

True to my word, ten minutes later I pulled into Pino's and found a place to park near Joe's vehicle. On the way over, I'd contacted Ranger to let him know I'd be at the restaurant and to pick me up there instead of at home in preparation for our night watch at Paul's house. Quickly making my way inside, I was surprised to see the place was busy for a Wednesday night. Joe was waiting for me in our booth toward the back, his head leaned back against the booth and his eyes closed. The wife in me immediately wanted to wrap my arms around him and take away the pain and frustration he was so obviously feeling, but my gut told me he needed a sense of normalcy first.

Threading through the tables, I slid into the booth beside him and surprised him with a chaste peck on the cheek. "Hey Hubby—I'm starved. Hope you went ahead and ordered."

Two iced teas were sitting on the table, which meant he _had_ already placed our order. _Thank God._

"Hubby?" Joe winced, looking as though he smelled something rotten.

"Well, you didn't like 'Honey', so I'm trying something new."

"How can I get you to understand simply calling me _Joe_ is okay? It's worked for three years. Why mess with a good thing?"

"Because we're married now, and 'Joe' isn't endearing enough—not like when you call me 'Cupcake'."

"Yes, but you _are _a Cupcake, so that at least makes sense" he grinned slyly, pulling me into his arms and giving me a much more thorough kiss on the mouth. In fact, it was pretty darn thorough—_WAY _more thorough than I was used to experiencing from him in a public place.

"Wow," I managed when he finally pulled back. "_Hello,_ Joe."

"Hello, Cupcake," he whispered against my lips. His nose was touching mine. "I really missed you today."

"I can tell. I missed you too." Deciding to test the waters, I asked tentatively, "How're you feeling?"

He winked. "I think that's supposed to be _my_ line. The babies give you any trouble today?"

"No, other than my afternoon nap was interrupted by a visit to your mother's." I couldn't prevent a snort of laughter from escaping. "You should've seen Ranger and Lula with her and Grandma Bella."

"I'd give an entire paycheck to see Manoso up against my mother, although I think I'm _already_ paying him—and royally." He leaned in to kiss me again, but I put my hand on his chest to stop him.

"Listen Ace, don't think I haven't noticed how you've managed to steer clear of my question." Gliding my hand upward, I placed it on his cheek and asked, "Seriously, how are you?"

He let out all the tension and fatigue he'd been bottling up into one big sigh. "I'm alright. Dr. Sullivan—Cheryl, I mean—was interesting."

"Interesting?" I raised an eyebrow. "Interesting how?"

"Different. She has a real dry sense of humor—very similar to mine—and she didn't act like a psychologist at all. She didn't take notes or try to analyze my brain. She just listened."

"_Hunh. _As I recall, she's awfully pretty too." The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I was both surprised and ashamed at the little zing of jealousy I felt inside.

_Quit it, Steph. Weren't you the one to suggest he go see her in the first place?_ Such was the curse of having married a man with movie star looks. It continually brought out my own lack of confidence.

I was thankful he didn't try to deny her appeal. "She's definitely intriguing. In a lot of ways she reminded me of you, which was a huge comfort the whole time I was there. It made me wish I'd brought you along."

"Yeah?" My jealousy quickly turned to pleasure.

"Yeah," he confirmed and banished any of my lingering insecurity with another soul-affirming kiss. Per usual, he'd read my mind. "I love you with everything I am, Stephanie. Don't ever doubt it."

Snuggling closer, I relished this affectionate side of my husband, typically unseen in public and especially in a cop hangout like Pino's." "I know you do. I love you too. And I'm sure you'd like the chance to decompress after the day you've had, but can you at least tell me if you learned anything important during your time with Dr. Sullivan?"

"I _want_ to tell you everything," he assured me and spent the next few minutes giving me a recap of their session, finishing with, "The most important insights I walked away with were the realization that I'm not crazy and—"

"Jeez, _I _could have told you _that._"

He tried to smile, but his expression went hard instead.

"And?" I prodded gently. Sensing the mood had change, I placed my hand on his thigh.

"And something bad happened the day you and I played that stupid game in my parent's garage," he acknowledged bitterly. "I don't know what—yet—but my subconscious is trying to remember."

"I agree."

"I'm starting to think it may have something to do with my father's death."

"When exactly _did_ your father die?"

"Would you be surprised if I told you I don't even know?"

"Not really. You _were_ only eight years old."

"I'm going to do some research later. Maybe it'll help nudge my brain."

The waitress arrived then with two massive meatball subs and two sides of broccoli, effectively ending the moment.

"Broccoli?" My nose immediately turned up.

"To offset the sub." Seeing my look of disgust, he shook his head. "Give me a break. If you'd married Manoso, you'd be eating twigs and berries. A few pieces of broccoli won't kill you. Look I'm having some too, so you won't feel like you're suffering alone."

_Yuck. _In my world, the only thing worse than broccoli was Brussels sprouts, and I flat out refused to eat those—babies or no babies. Reaching into my bag, I resolved not to whine and pulled out my new best friend—my trusty jar of peanut butter.

Joe gave me a look. "If you're thinking of putting that on the broccoli, I may have to eat in another booth."

I looked at him like he was a dimwit. "Of course not."

He breathed a sigh of relief before taking a massive bite of his own sub.

"It's for my sub."

Joe made a gagging sound.

"It's going to be incredible," I promised.

"Meat, cheese, marinara sauce and peanut butter together is not incredible, Steph. It's a recipe for 'Worst Cooks in America'."

"Maybe I'll start a trend."

"Or a stampede to the bathroom once people get a glimpse of you chewing that thing. I'm thinking of going there myself."

_Darn it. _One mention of the bathroom, and my bladder responded like Pavlov's dog.

Glaring at my husband, I said. "I'll be right back." Sliding back out of the booth, I leaned down until we were eye-to-eye. "Do—no—touch—my—peanut butter, Morelli."

"God forbid, Cupcake," he replied sardonically.

I recognized several cops on my way toward the rest room and greeted some by name, and then stopped short when I cut through the bar area. _Shit. _Terry Gilman was sitting at a high top with Julie Wisneski, formerly Julie Singer. She'd been in the same class as Terri, Joe and Val.

Trying to slink down as much as possible, I thought I was in the clear, until I heard Julie's voice calling out loudly, "Steph! Look Terry, it's Stephanie Plum—oops—I mean Morelli." Her words were slightly slurred. Evidently the party had started early. "How the hell are you, Steph?"

"Hi Julie," I acknowledged warily, dragging my feet over toward them. The last time I'd seen her was when she'd helped to deliver Lisa, Val's youngest daughter. "Gilman," I choked through gritted teeth.

Terry immediately turned her head and began to scan the restaurant for my husband, while Julie grabbed my left hand to see the rings I proudly wore.

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, she gushed. "Your rings are gorgeous! I can't believe you two finally tied the knot, and have a baby on the way too." Her eyebrows went up. "At least that's the word in the Burg. Is it true?"

"Of course it's true," Terry broke in snidely. "Trust me, that's the _only _way she'd be able to get a man like Joe to the altar. All those years he was getting the milk for free. Now he's just stuck with a cow."

My fist clenched at my side. Everything in me wanted to have a smackdown right there in the middle of the bar, but common sense prevailed thanks to the two blessings in my belly. "Actually we're having twins," I announced, not in the least bit ashamed at the cutting tone of my voice.

Julie's eyes widened, while Terry's narrowed.

"Twins!" Julie squealed. "Omigod, how exciting!"

"Yes, but are they Joe's or Tony's?" Terry asked, laying down the gauntlet.

_Take the high road. Take the high road. _"Gee, I don't know," I feigned ignorance. "Why don't you go over and ask my _husband _the same question and see what he says?"

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Your husband—please—once those babies are born, you're history. Mark my words—you may be giving him a baby, but you'll never satisfy him long-term."

"Bab-_ies,_" I stressed, "and I'll take that bet. It suddenly came to me how I needed to handle my long-time nemesis. "Actually, I have you to thank for all this, Gilman."

She looked momentarily stunned. "Me?"

"Yes—_you_."

"You're talking nonsense as usual." She circled her finger at her temple and shared a look with Julie. "You'd better stop eating so much. The added weight is preventing you from thinking rationally."

"No, I'm deadly serious. You stood in this same bar not three weeks ago and told me that until there was a ring on my finger, Joe was a free man. I took your advice to heart and that very night made damned sure he knew how much I loved him; how I'd never betray him; how I'd be proud to be the mother of his children. And you know what? You were right. He was _most _appreciative and gave me the rings—_before _we even knew I was pregnant. He whisked me off to Barbados for the most romantic surprise wedding imaginable—one he'd planned just for me. So thank you, Terry—from the bottom of my heart. I can only hope one day you'll find the same happiness Joe and I've found together."

With one more toss of my hair, making sure to use my left hand with the sparkly rings, I finished with, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to pee. It comes with being pregnant—with _twins_."

Gilman's eyes glittered not only from the reflection of my diamonds but her own envy as well. Not waiting for a response, I headed for the bathroom. When I came out three minutes later, it was to find both of them gone. Fully expecting Terry to be fawning over Joe back at the table, I was surprised to find him still sitting there alone, calmly eating his dinner.

"You all right?" he asked in concern, as I scooted back into the booth beside him. "You were gone so long; I thought maybe you'd gotten sick."

"I felt like it," I grumbled, "but it wasn't from the babies. I ran into Gilman and Julie Wisneski in the bar. They both wanted to make sure I knew how thrilled they were for us."

He snorted loudly. "I'll just bet they did. Is Gilman still in one piece?"

Taking a moment to spread a thick smear of peanut butter over my sub, I looked at him with pseudo haughtiness, "I was _nothing _but magnanimous—_hubby_."

This brought out a full-fledged laugh, and it was music to my ears. I missed Joe's relaxed, lazy spirit that had been so conspicuously absent of late.

He bent close to my ear and said in a low rumble, "Lose the 'hubby', and I promise not to regurgitate watching you eat that thing. In fact, if you play your cards right, later on I might even let you spread a little bit of that peanut butter on my—"

"So _Joe_," I interrupted hastily, my face flaming. "What's the latest on the Myra Flower's investigation?"

He laughed again. "Seeing you blush is a total turn-on, Cupcake, so if you think you're distracting me, try again."

My face went even redder. "Morelli—"

Taking mercy on me, he laughed and tapped me on the nose. "Alright, enough foreplay. You're a naughty girl, Mrs. Morelli."

"Me!"

"Here I am trying to tell you about my day, and—"

I purposefully took a _huge _bite of my sub and watched his face turn green. _Omigod—joke or no joke—it tasted incredible to my hormonally challenged stomach. _

He swallowed hard, trying not to think about the peanut butter. "Okay, enough goofing around for both of us. Eat," he pointed at the dish of broccoli.

I noticed he'd yet to touch his own dish of it. Raising an eyebrow, I stared him down. "I'll eat mine if you eat yours."

If possible, his face turned even greener, but he valiantly picked up his fork. "I accept that challenge—whatever it's going to take to keep you three healthy."

We sat in silence for a few moments, concentrating on our food. Finally, Joe shifted gears and said, "I heard from the lab that Myra OD'd on heroin—just like Nagel, but we'd already assumed that at the scene."

"Any possibility it was self-induced?"

"About zero." His voice got tighter. "The tech discovered a fresh bruise on her upper arm, indicating she'd struggled with someone beforehand."

I couldn't stop my hand from self-consciously rubbing my own fading bruise. "What about prints?"

"Partial, but not on the bruise. There's a chance she had contact with someone else prior to the assault, but nothing concrete."

"Do you think—" I stopped, not wanting to say what was running through my head out loud.

Once again we were mentally in tune. "I thought the same thing—you're wondering if Tony did it, right?"

"Yes, but _anyone _could've made a mark like that."

"Yep, they could've, and that's what I'm choosing to believe," Joe said firmly, yet we both avoided looking directly at one another for an uncomfortable moment while we faced our own concerns.

_God, it was going to be so bad for BOTH his brothers if we were wrong. _Taking another bite, I changed the subject. "What about your lunch in Newark. On the phone, all you said was you had some good cross-jurisdictional cooperation going. What's that mean?"

"Chapman's friend in Vice, Al Walker, seems like a good cop. He and the IA dude, Grady Schultz, were the ones who felt Stampler needed investigating. Keith's struggling with feeling disloyal to a fellow officer, but he came around enough to agree to help too. I've got Stumpy—"

"Stumpy?" I gave him an odd look. "Who the heck's he?"

"Darryl Davis. He's one of the new recruits. Transferred here from the Princeton PD after Kennard. He's young and has a misplaced case of hero worship going on with me—"

"I don't think it's misplaced," I commented cheekily. "You're _my _hero too."

He ran a finger down the side of my cheek. "Good to know. Anyway, I sent Rodriguez and him over to Newark to go through Stampler's house with a fine-tooth comb. We're hoping to have a warrant by tomorrow to go through Nagel's place too."

"Davis," I mused. "Isn't he the one you said had the theory that Jessie might be in Trenton?"

"Yeah. It's not all that stupid of an idea either. We don't know when Stampler's place was broken into. Say she overheard Stampler talking with someone about Nagel or Paul. She got curious; snooped around Wednesday after school and found the file folder marked 'Morelli' in her brother's office. Maybe she got scared and stole two hundred dollars from her employers that night, thinking she'd come to Trenton and talk with Paul."

"How in the hell would she manage that? Paul told us she didn't have a way to get to Trenton. He always had to drive to Newark to see her, remember?"

"She could've asked a friend, stolen her brother's vehicle, taken a bus, a train—any number of scenarios."

"I take it neither you nor your counterparts in Newark have brought up any of these theories and investigations to Rogers or Bud Reynolds yet."

Joe shook his head and pushed his empty plate aside. "Not until we have something concrete. I can't take a chance on Rogers getting pissed off and accusing _me _of going rogue. He'd pull me off the case in a heartbeat. And who knows how Chief Reynolds and Newark would react to my ideas."

"Your ideas _are_ hard to believe," I agreed, feeling the need for honesty no matter how much I wanted to show him support.

Joe looked depressed. "I know. It's not looking good for Paul _or _Tony. Especially now with that lunatic Bulldog after them—"

"Ranger will find them first. Lula told me she saw the two of you talking with Bulldog out on the street in front of Meachum's place. My guess is Bulldog challenged Ranger. True?"

"Yeah, he's a real piece of work."

"Ranger was a different person this afternoon—even more focused than usual, so my guess is he's taken this search to heart. He has something to prove now."

"I'm counting on it. What'd he and Lula find out at Tony and Paul's houses today anyway?" One look at my face, and he amended his statement. "Maybe the better question would be what did _you _find out at their houses today."

I had the grace to blush. "In my defense, I only went in _after _Ranger and Lula did a walk-through."

"Uh-huh." He merely rolled his eyes. "What'd you find?"

"At Tony's house, the only thing was a note indicating where Adrienne and Angelina went with the kids. They're at the Days Inn in Atlantic City."

"Okay, that's good information. What else?"

I took the last bite of broccoli and forced it down. "Paul's place was trashed, but Ranger felt it wasn't professionally tossed—just messy. Their sliding door was ajar, and Ranger found damp towels upstairs. He thinks Paul and Tony are staying there."

Joe's eyebrows rose, and I could see his analytical mind going to work.

"That makes no sense. Both times one of us has had contact with them, they reeked—"

"I know," I jumped in. "That's what I told Ranger and Lula. And what the hell _was_ that smell on Paul the other night anyway. Do you remember? It was more than just sweat. It was something else, but I can't pinpoint the odor."

"Shit, you're right. It was more than just nerves and sweat."

"Ranger's picking me up here at seven o'clock. He, Lula and I are going back over to Paul's to see if we can find someone there tonight."

"I'd like to go with you, but I'd better head back to the precinct and check on the lab. I've got to talk with Rodriquez and Davis too." Signaling the waitress for the check, he began, "Promise me—"

"I'll be careful," I cut him off. "I had another nap after Ranger dropped me off this afternoon, so I'm feeling pretty good right now."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Wizard himself entering the room with Lula lagging three steps behind. Ranger appeared focused and ready to get down to business, whereas Lula looked ready to bolt. Being in the presence of this many cops twice in one day was more than a former hooker should be expected to take. Still dressed in her get-up from earlier, her hair was once again slicked down beneath her black cap.

Every cop in the room had their eyes trained on the two of them as they made their way over to our table.

"No fair—you ate?" Lula accused loudly once she reached us. Turning, she tossed a glare in Ranger's direction. "I need food too. Boss Man here had me watchin' some stupid ass boring videos about how to do a proper take-down while he _worked_."

"I told you there was food in the kitchen," Ranger rolled his eyes. "And why the hell is it you can barely string two words together when we're alone, but as soon as we're in a group, your mouth starts flapping uncontrollably."

Lula ignored the dig. "Food—you call that crap in the kitchen food? Who the hell eats yogurt? And celery sticks? I can't even call it rabbit food, because that shit ain't fit for a rabbit. The only thing I found worth a lick of salt in there was a can of Crisco, and that was only good for gettin' my hair back in shape underneath this cap."

Joe started cracking up. "No wonder I have the sudden urge for some fried chicken."

"Cut it out, Morelli." Ranger's glower was set in stone.

Lula lowered the sunglasses still perched on her nose and fixed Ranger with a defiant look. "I am a _full_-bodied, beautiful woman who needs _real _food to do my best. Stealin' Steph's candy bar while she was sleepin' didn't cut it. What did ya'll have?" she asked us, purposefully avoiding my glare at the mention of my candy bar.

"Meatball subs," Joe offered with a crafty grin. "You should try one. And I bet if you ask real nicely, Steph might even share her peanut butter with you to spread over the top of it."

Somehow he managed to dodge the elbow I'd aimed toward his rib cage. Ranger looked perplexed over the notion of peanut butter on anything.

"Now you see?" Lula cried. "_That's _food." She shook her head. "'Cept for the peanut butter, cause what our girl does with the stuff is just crazy ass shit." She sat down hard on the other side of our booth and pinned Ranger with a frown. "You need to get me a meatball sub before I can go chasin' after anybody else. Lula's tired."

"_I _need to get you a sub?" Ranger echoed in disbelief? He looked about ready to strangle her.

"Hell, yeah—it's rule number five in my job description. If the employ-_ee_ is required to work beyond a normal eight-hour shift, the employ-_er _is obligated to buy said employee dinner."

"You don't _have _a job description, and what I'm going to buy you is a ticket back to file clerk if you're not careful," Ranger warned in a low voice. He shook his head and muttered, "Honest to God, I don't get it. She's barely said shit to me all day when we're alone. Now listen to her!"

I didn't dare look at anyone for fear I'd completely lose it, but Joe felt no such limitation. He was beside himself with glee over Ranger's frustration.

"Morelli, I'm warning you—" Ranger snapped, uncharacteristically losing control.

"Alright, I have to get back to the precinct anyway," Joe relented. _At least he'd been given a much-needed break from the stress_. Still smiling, he gave me a subtle nudge with his arm in order to let him out of the booth.

We both stood, and he gave me a kiss, ignoring Ranger's watchful gaze. "Call me after you've been to Paul's."

Lula was still sitting there, picking her teeth with the same small piece of cardstock she'd filched from Paul's house earlier.

"I ain't never eatin' lettuce again as long as I live," she groused. "Been workin' on this here piece of shredded misery from my _healthy _sandwich all afternoon."

Joe cocked his head to the side. "What's that you're using to get it out? Why not a toothpick?"

She held out the cardstock. "This? Hell if I know. I picked it up at your brother's place." She lowered the sunglasses again and looked at the card more closely. "It's a train ticket—from Newark to Trenton."

As if we were doing synchronized swimming, Joe, Ranger and I all reached out to grab it from her at the same time.

"Jesus!" she exclaimed, tossing the ticket and cringing backward. "What's wrong with you people!"

I was the fastest. Bending down, I grabbed the ticket off of the floor and held it out in order for all three of us to examine it.

"It was for Wednesday night!" I announced, completely stunned.

"Jessie," Joe confirmed. "Let's go."

He tossed some cash on to the table, and we all headed for the door. Lula was dragging behind us, looking enviously at the plates of food as we passed each table.

"Wait—you're coming with us?" I asked Joe.

"Hell, yes—this is the first break we've had."

Outside we came to halt between the Escalade and my SUV, which was now sporting four slashed tires and a message in lipstick across the windshield: _Moo!_

_Gilman._

"That bitch!" I screamed, kicking what was left of one of the tires. "You need to arrest Gilman!"

"Are you sure it was her?" Joe asked, looking doubtful.

"Of course I'm sure!" I snapped. "She called me a fucking cow. When I get my hands on her—"

"We don't have time for this now," Ranger cut in. "Let's go." His eyes met Joe's. "How about you meet us there."

Joe never flinched. I'm sure he didn't want to ride with Ranger just as much as Ranger didn't want my husband riding with him. "No problem."

"I'll go with you," I grumbled to Joe, still furious about my vehicle. I'd just gotten it back five days ago from having four slashed tires. The only one happy about this would be my new best friend and auto mechanic, Bucky Siedler.

Even getting married, becoming pregnant and quitting bounty hunting couldn't seem to prevent me from destroying vehicles. Grrr!

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Stephanie was still fuming beside me over Gilman and the SUV's slashed tires, but subsided when my cell phone rang.

"Morelli."

"Joe. Grady Schultz here," Newark's Internal Affairs guy announced in his well-modulated baritone.

_Finally—someone from Newark_. "What's going on over there? I haven't heard a word from anyone?"

"I haven't either," Schultz announced. "I'm calling about something that's concerning me."

My gut immediately tightened. "What's that?"

"After lunch, I came back to the office and started doing a more thorough search into Brian Stampler's personnel file, which I'm going to go out on a limb and get you a copy of ASAP."

"Okay—I appreciate that," I responded warily. "Can you tell me now though what has you so concerned?"

"Remember how at lunch I mentioned Stampler had been characterized by the NPD as wanting to do everything by the book? How he was very much a rules and procedures kind of guy?"

"Yeah—I know that from personal experience. I witnessed it first hand during our days in the academy together."

"Then did you already know Stampler was diagnosed with a severe form of OCD while in the academy?"

"OCD? That's obsessive something or other, right?"

"Obsessive Compulsive Disorder—yes. It's an incredibly common syndrome. About 1 in 50 people are diagnosed with it at some point in their lives. There are varying levels of severity as well. Brian's form was considered the highest."

"Is it normal for someone to be allowed in law enforcement when you have this disorder?"

I saw Steph watching me out of the corner of my eye with her usual inquisitive gaze, so I flipped the phone to speaker.

"Unfortunately, there are no hard and fast rules. Every police department is different. I will say it's unusual for someone with this level of diagnosis to be allowed to be a cop. It says here in his record that Trenton was about to let Brian go when his parents were killed in the plane crash. That, plus being given the responsibility of raising his two year old baby sister were enough of an impetus to send him home to Newark."

"Why the hell did Newark hire him?"

"Beats me. It was before my time and before Chief Reynolds took the reigns of the department. Somehow—someway—he slipped through the cracks."

"Do you know much about OCD?"

"I did some research before I called you, yes. If this diagnosis is correct, it would explain his need to go after Nagel. As I said at lunch, he probably had been dealing with his sister's drug usage for a while now. He could've been scared to push too hard with the precinct to go after Nagel for fear it would make him look like an unfit guardian. And yet the anxiety over his sister and the fear that something bad was going to happen could easily have become an obsession with him, as would the need to get rid of the problem."

I let out a breath. "Okay, this is good information. Thanks, Grady."

"No problem. I'll get a copy of the file to Walker. Hopefully the warrant to search Nagel's house will come through, and he can pass it on to you tomorrow."

"Sounds good. Later."

Shutting off the phone, I noticed we were almost to Paul's place.

"So Stampler has OCD," Steph mused.

"According to his personnel file he does. How in the hell do you suppose he slipped through the cracks like that between Trenton and Newark?" I wondered.

"I don't know. Had Schultz heard from the team going through Stampler's house?"

"No. I'll call Rodriguez after we see what's happening here at Paul's."

Turning off my headlights, I eased up behind Manoso, who was already parked down the street from my brother's place. Steph and I wasted no time in climbing out and meeting up with Ranger and Lula beside the Escalade.

"How do you want to do this?" I asked my long-time adversary, whom I was beginning to see in a different light now. What exactly that light was would prove to be another question entirely.

Although it was difficult to see clearly in the dark, I was pretty sure I saw Ranger's eyes lift curiously. "You're the cop. Don't you want to be in charge?" he challenged with an edge to his voice.

"We don't have time for power trips or head games, Manoso. Let's just get the job done."

"Fine," he agreed evenly. "I'd like to take Lula in with me first to check things out. You stay here with Steph. We'll come back after we've done an initial search."

"But I want—" Steph immediately disagreed.

"Go," I interrupted, wrapping an arm around my wife's shoulders.

Ranger and Lula hustled off into the dark. They'd no sooner left when Stephanie whirled around and smacked me in the chest.

"Ouch! What the hell was that for?"

"That was for trying to protect the little woman!" she fumed angrily. "I spent all day in the fucking car. You think I want it do it again tonight too? I—"

"That's not—"

"You think it's easy for me not to be working? Yes, I know I said I didn't want to do bounty hunting anymore, but—"

"Steph, if you'd stop and listen—"

She was beginning to lose control, her voice hitching as she tried to force out the angry words. "That doesn't mean I don't want to use my brain, for Christ's sake. Of course, maybe you and Ranger don't think I even have a brain, seeing how he's teaching Lula WAY more than he ever taught me. Didn't he think I was capable of learning? Did he only help me to try and get into my bed? Why the hell—"

"Stephanie!"

"And I know I shouldn't even be this upset. I love you. I love our babies, but I can't stand the thought—" She choked on a sob.

_What the hell? Where'd the tears come from?_

I stopped her the only way I could think of—with my own lips. Wrapping my arms around her trembling frame, I covered her mouth and absorbed all of her swirling emotions regarding the pregnancy as well as her apparent jealousy over Lula's new role in Manoso's life—the latter of which I'd need to explore further when she wasn't so upset.

She finally calmed down and pulled back a fraction and offered softly, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I smiled and tucked her head underneath my chin. "I'd be upset too. It's a lot to absorb in a short period of time. And it doesn't help when you feel lousy to boot."

Shaking her head, she swiped at the tears she'd fought but had escaped anyway. "I'm just being selfish."

"No you aren't. As happy as I am about you being pregnant, Cupcake, it's killing me to see you have to give up so much, so soon. And you're dead wrong about something. I think you're the smartest woman I've ever known. Believe it or not, I find it to be the sexiest thing about you, which is saying a hell of a lot, because the rest of you is already over the top sexy."

"Thank you," she sniffed, settling a bit. "I really _don't_ want to be a bounty hunter any longer."

"Okay," I agreed, treading carefully. I was leery about saying too much for fear Mount Stephanie might erupt again.

"It's just rubbed me wrong all day how Lula is suddenly getting all of this wonderful training from Ranger—training he never offered to me. Oh, he helped me in more ways than I could ever repay, but it was different. This is hard-core, by the book training. How much better could I have been at my job had he done this for me?"

"Did you ask for that kind of help?" I asked in a leery tone, afraid she'd snap at me again.

"No," she admitted on a sigh. "I never asked you either, did I." She swiped at her nose with her sleeve. "I guess I was too hell-bent on wanting to prove myself to everyone—especially you."

"You more than proved yourself, but let me ask you something. Are you happy with the path your life is taking right now, because it's a far different path than the one you were on."

"Of course I'm happy," she bristled again. "I wouldn't trade what I have for anything. I just feel useless—that's all."

"You're not useless—not by a long shot. And the reason Manoso asked us to wait here had nothing to do with protecting you. It's because he needs to keep training Lula without interference from us."

"She's going to be good," Stephanie admitted, sounding both envious and proud at the same time. "When he's done with her, she's going to be _really _good."

"Then we should both be happy for her. From what I see, she didn't have a whole hell of a lot of good in her life until she hooked up with a certain crazy, curly-haired brunette I know."

"Crazy?" she repeated, tilting her head back to peer up at me.

"Definitely crazy," I confirmed. "She'd have to be in order to marry into my family."

I could feel Stephanie's body finally relax into mine. It felt good just to hold her for a moment there in the dark, but at the same time my mind was going in about a thousand different directions. _What were Manoso and Lula finding? Why was Stampler allowed to remain a cop? Why hadn't I heard anything from Rodriguez and Stumpy? Where were Tony and Paul? Who killed Myra Flowers? Would I ever know the truth about those crazy flashbacks? _The questions seemed endless.

"Gawd, don't you two ever quit?" Lula's voice broke the quiet of the moment. "I swear you've been in a permanent lip lock since Barbados!"

"You haven't even seen us _kiss _since Barbados," Stephanie retorted, but she reluctantly pulled out of my embrace anyway.

"Obviously you didn't find anything," I noted brusquely, trying to cover my disappointment.

"The house is clear. Boss Man says come on in," she responded, leaning up against my truck. "Damn, girlie, you got anything left to eat in your bag? I'm fadin' fast."

"Sorry, I ate everything," Steph apologized half-heartedly. Drilling Lula with an accusing gaze, she added, "Even _my _candy bar is gone."

Lula sighed in fatigue and pushed herself back up. "S'alright. Let's get this over with, so I can go home and smooch with _my _man and find me a whole lot of somethin' to eat—'cuz that candy bar of yours didn't do squat."

Before anything more could be said about the candy bar, I herded the three of us back down the street to the house. We found Ranger standing in the family room.

"The place has been cleaned up," Ranger announced as we walked in. "A lot of the shit we saw laying around earlier is gone now. You might want to have someone dust for prints though. I'm sure there's a boat load of 'em around."

That posed another dilemma. I didn't want to call in an entire tech team. Rogers would have a fit if he knew I was pursuing the Stampler angle this hard. He'd consider it a waste of TPD resources. But Manoso was right—the place should be dusted. At this point, I needed to start building evidence for my case—if I ever developed one.

Flipping out my phone, I called into the precinct and got the night shift operator.

"Trenton Police Department—how may I direct your call?"

"Hey Bertie—Joe Morelli here. Do you happen to know if Frances Ling is still in?"

"Oh hi, Joe. Haven't seen you since you got back. Congratulations on your wedding."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Hold on, and let me see if Frances is here."

Less than thirty seconds later, I heard Frances' lilting Asian-American tone, "Frances Ling."

"It's Morelli."

"Don't hound me, Morelli," she began testily. "It'll be tomorrow before I have everything together for you from the Flower's investigation."

"Change of plans," I broached cautiously. "I need a favor instead."

"What kind of favor," she demanded. We'd worked together for years, and she knew full well I didn't always go by the book.

"Personal and somewhat private—at least for now."

"Are you causing trouble again, Joe?" she asked quietly. "Haven't you had enough drama in your professional life already this year?"

"What can I say? I live for the thrill," I joked, making a face at Stephanie, who was watching me.

Ranger was looking around the room at the mess still remaining. Lula, on the other hand, had stretched out on the couch.

"Alright, I'll bite. What do you need?"

"I need you to come over to my brother's house and dust for prints."

"The one who's FTA?"

_God, how embarrassing. _"No, my other brother." It occurred to me Frances had left the room before Rogers had nailed me about Paul that afternoon. There was no point in going through the whole saga again right then.

"Joe…"

"I know, I know. I promise this is on the up-and-up. I just need to keep it quiet for awhile."

There was a long pause, while she debated with herself. "Fine. Where are you?"

After giving her the address, I hung up and faced Manoso. "Will it insult you if I go through the house again?"

His face was stony as ever. "Does it matter what I think?"

"Not really, but I thought I'd at least ask."

That got a lip curl out of him.

The four of us made yet another methodical search through the house, but despite the mess, it was clear someone had picked up, packed up and headed out.

_Great._

"I'd rather not be here when the tech arrives," Ranger said after several minutes of silence while we searched. "I have work I need to do for Rangeman, and I'm not sure how much more we're going to get out of my protégé tonight." He jerked his head toward where Lula was standing in the middle of the room with her eyes closed. "Lula—wake up."

"I'm awake," she mumbled, her eyes still closed.

"Go ahead," I agreed with Manoso's decision. Glancing at Stephanie, I was surprised to see her wide-eyed and alert. That must've been one hell of a nap she'd taken before dinner. She'd need her next dose of Zofran soon, however, so I felt I needed to offer, "Cupcake, you want them to drop you off at home?"

She shook her head. "No, I'll wait with you."

I couldn't stop the smile. "Okay."

Ranger faced Stephanie. "If it's alright with you, I'm going to take Lula out on my own tomorrow."

Lula's eyes popped open wide at his statement. "You are?"

Stephanie's eyes narrowed. "You are?"

"It's time to see how she responds without you around as a buffer. Maybe we'll hook up with you later in the day. We'll keep our eyes open for all those involved—except for Myra of course."

_Nice reminder, asshole. _"That'll work well," I avoided the dig. "I need Stephanie to help me anyway."

I knew it was killing Manoso not to ask what she'd be doing for me, but he remained silent. Stephanie, however, looked stunned. And Lula? She looked both scared to death and exhausted at the same time.

"Alright then—keep in contact," Manoso ordered, pushing past me after one last look in Stephanie's direction. "Take care, Eliza."

_Eliza?_

"See ya, girlie," Lula lagged behind as usual. Lowering her voice, she spoke near Steph's ear, "What the hell am I supposed to say to him on my own?"

"Just be yourself," Steph encouraged.

That was my Stephanie—rising above her own insecurity to show support for one of her best friends and former partner.

No sooner were they out the door, than she whipped around, "What is it you want me to do for you?" she asked suspiciously. "If this is some kind of ploy to keep me out of danger—"

"I need you to go to my mom's house under the guise of wanting to get to know the family better."

Her face blanked for a moment. Clearly, she was still under the impression I expected her to sit around at home.

"Well, that's no guise," she said sarcastically. "I _do _need to know your family better. I still haven't figured out how many nieces and nephews you have."

I couldn't prevent a smile from crossing my face. "There'll be a test before Thanksgiving, you know."

"Cute, _hubby_. So what's the deal? I'm assuming you want me to find out more about your father's death?"

"In your own clever way—yes. Maybe ask to see photo albums, scrapbooks—anything like that. Better yet, see if you can get her to let you bring them to our house. I'd do it myself, but she'll get suspicious, and I really think it could help."

She gave me an assessing look. "Fine—I'll do it. But once again, you're going to owe me. Spending that kind of 'quality'time with your mom and Bella will require _massive _payback, Morelli."

Stepping closer, I tipped her face up and touched my lips to hers. "Which I'll gladly pay."

Frances walked in at that moment. "Oh, how lovely. I never knew you had a soft side, Morelli," she noted dryly, dropping her bag onto the couch. She reached out a hand to Stephanie. "Frances Ling, TPD."

"Stephanie Morelli."

"Alright, let's get to work. What's going on?" Frances questioned in a no-nonsense voice.

My cell phone chose that moment to ring.

_Rodriguez._

"I have to take this," I apologized.

"I'll show her where to take the prints," Stephanie offered.

Nodding my thanks, I stepped away and engaged the call. "Morelli."

"Sorry it's taken so long. There was a lot to go through," Manny Rodriguez's voice filled my ear.

"That bad?"

"The place was a mess, but I'll tell you now—it was not a professional job."

My antennae immediately went up. "How do you figure that?"

"There was no method to the mess. Someone who was flat out pissed was bound and determined to trash Stampler's place."

"Could it still have been someone searching for something?"

"Sure—anything's possible. You know that. But it wasn't a professional," he repeated.

What he didn't say was that it could easily have been Paul seeking retribution for Stampler having left him to hang out to dry alone.

"What'd you find?"

"Lots of drug-related information."

"Care to elaborate, Detective Evasive?"

He snorted. "Jessie's room was filled with drug paraphernalia—cleverly hidden underneath her mattress."

"For example?"

"Syringes, marijuana wrappers, traces of both pot and heroin—what else you want?"

"Go on."

"Well the interesting thing was we found several bottles of prescription meds for Stampler in the bathroom. The kid looked it up on the Internet. Said it was some high-powered drug used for OCD, not that I know what the hell he was talking about."

I could tell already "The Kid", AKA Stumpy, was going to be one hell of a detective once he was seasoned a bit more. I really liked the partnership developing between him and Rodriguez.

"Yeah, I heard from Schultz over in IA. Stampler has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I need to do some research into it myself, but I do know you typically don't get too high up in law enforcement when you have it—especially with the degree to which he suffers."

"Well how the fuck did he slip through then?"

"I don't know, but it's a good lead for us to prove his desire to go rogue on this whole deal." Pressing the fingers of one hand against the bridge of my nose, I fought against the headache threatening to develop. "What else?"

"We combed his office hard. Saw the empty "Morelli" folder too. But we got into the Internet history on his computer and found he'd been doing a hell of a lot of searches on the whole Kennard fiasco, along with Stryker, Dorsey, etc. The idiot never cleaned his cache out, so we were able to go back quite a ways. He's been looking for links to Meachum and Nagel too, trying to build his own case."

"Any sign of a journal or on-line records—anything solid?"

"No, I'm sure that's what was in the file folder."

_Shit. _Everything so far was circumstantial.

"What else?"

"Walker reported in that he went over to the high school and was able to track down some of Jessie's friends. After a lot of persuasion, a couple of them were willing to admit Jessie did drugs and had been for about three years."

"What a waste," I couldn't help but comment. It always tore me up when kids were involved in an investigation, and particularly if drugs were involved. It was just sad.

"Did they name the pusher?"

"One lone kid had the guts to mention Nagel by name, but was quickly shut down by the rest of the crowd."

"One voice helps," I tried to sound positive, but again, it was circumstantial evidence.

"Anything else?" I asked, fighting discouragement.

"Yeah, I saved the best for last."

"Hit me with something good, Manny. I need it about now."

"Your warrant came through."

"Yes!" I exclaimed, slapping my fist against my thigh. "Thank _you_, Brian!"

"Yeah, Chapman really came through. He said he'd have it for us first thing in the morning. We're meeting at eight o'clock in the Denny's parking lot over here. The kid and I were wishing we'd just brought clothing with us. We'd stay at a hotel if we'd had. As it is, we're heading back to Trenton right now."

"Good work, Rodriguez. Tell Davis I said the same for him too. I'll meet you guys at TPD at seven o'clock and follow you over there. I want two vehicles in case I'm called back. We've had another murder this afternoon, so my ass is on the line."

"Who?"

"Myra Flowers."

"Oh fuck—no," Rodriguez swore. "Evidence?"

"Not much. Drug OD again. Bruise on the upper arm showing a confrontation. I'm over at Paul's house right now. We think Jessie may have been staying here and got scared off."

"No shit?"

"Yeah. Steph's former partner in bond enforcement found a one-way train ticket from Newark to Trenton in his house."

"Circumstantial, Morelli."

"I know, I know, but it's a start. We've got to find that girl, along with Tony and Paul. It wouldn't hurt to find Meachum and his gang and Stampler too."

"Christ, you got so many people out there, it's a wonder you're not stumbling over them. I'll see you in the morning."

"Thanks, Manny."

Disconnecting, I turned and found Stephanie curled up on the couch and sound asleep.

"She passed out about five minutes ago," Frances said while brushing for prints. "You realize, don't you, that this task you've set me on is going to be a wild goose chase. I've already found five different sets of prints—several of which are children's."

"I know. Those would be my nieces and nephews. I appreciate your trying though, Ling. I need anything I can get at this point."

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation just now. Is Rogers aware of what all you're doing?"

I studied her earnest face as she looked up at me.

"No. He's not aware."

She shook her head. "Be careful, Joe. You're a good cop—we both know that. But messing with the acting chief of police, especially one who's desperately trying to lose the 'acting' in front of the title is foolhardy, and you know that too. Don't ruin your career over some warped sense of family loyalty."

One corner of my mouth lifted self-mockingly. "Frances, I'm a damned good cop, and I'm cocky enough to tell you I'm smart as hell at what I do. But in all of the years you've known me, have I _ever _been characterized by doing the safe and expected thing?"

"No," she admitted after a pause. "You're characterized by beating the odds."

"And I'll beat them this time too," I promised, and without another word, I shifted Stephanie, so that I could sit down beneath her, cradling her in my arms while she continued to sleep.

Frances gave me one more hard look and then turned back to what she was doing. It was going to be a long evening, but it wasn't as though I didn't have plenty to think about.

On the contrary—I had too much.


	11. Chapter 11

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Hope you're all having a great weekend!

Julie, my fabulous Beta reader, was even more fabulously helpful in this chapter, so a HUGE shout-out to her. Thank you!

Thanks to everyone who takes the time to give me feedback. You don't know how much I utilize your responses to help craft future chapters. If you're reading and not reviewing, I'd so appreciate just a note now and then to let me know what is or isn't working for you. You all are the best!

* * *

Chapter Eleven

**Ranger's POV**

"Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine—"

"Push yourself, Tank. Let's go!"

"Fuck you, Manoso," my right hand man grunted, while hefting a fifty-pound dumbbell in each of his hands. Rivers of sweat were pouring down his ebony skin. "What is this—some kind of sick punishment? At least tell me what the hell I did to deserve it." He shot a death glare over to where I was in the home stretch of a ten-mile run on the treadmill.

Wiping sweat off my own forehead, I ramped up the pace even higher and met his thundercloud of a face with an easy smile. This was the most laid back I'd felt in almost a week. No, make it six weeks. Not since I'd had sex with Stephanie in the closet of Joyce Barnhardt's condo after Hawaii had I felt this loose and limbered. Of course I'd much preferred the route I'd taken to relaxation with Stephanie, but right now the exercised-induced high was equally as potent.

When dropping off Lula at Tank's place last night, I'd goaded my best friend into a 5:00 a.m. workout, secretly hoping he'd be able to coax Lula into joining us. God knew she could use the exercise. But he'd appeared—alone—in my living area at exactly five o'clock ready to sweat. It was going on six thirty now, and we were both about to drop.

"You haven't answered me all morning," Tank huffed, concentrating on his form in the full-length mirror. "Why the sudden desire for this self-induced torture."

"Don't tell me you're getting soft on me, Pierre," I taunted. "This is _nothing _compared to what we endured back in the day, and you know it."

"Yes, but I thought I was out of the Army—_Carlos._"

Tossing back my head, I let out an endorphin-boosted laugh. "Your body's a temple, Tank."

"I know. We _all _know."

"I wish you could've convinced Lula to join us"

"Hell—she won't drag her ass out of bed until ten minutes before you're supposed to pick her up." He set the dumbbells down and wiped his face with a towel. "She was up half the night last night again trying to glue those damn rhinestones back onto her jacket. I told her it wasn't cool, but she's bound and determined to do anything to get you to notice her."

_Notice her? _It was taking all the self-control I had not to _kill _her.

"Uh—no offense—but she's kind of hard to miss."

Tank let out a huge barrel laugh. "Tell me something I _don't _know. She's antsy as hell about going solo with you today."

I couldn't prevent an eye roll from escaping. "Your woman talks too much—except when she's alone with me. Then she doesn't talk enough."

"I told you she's in awe of you."

Thinking back to her demands for a meatball sub the night before, I returned doubtfully, "Somehow I find that hard to believe."

Tank frowned thoughtfully. "You're treating her right, aren't you? Boss or no boss, you don't treat my girl right, and you and I are going to have issues."

"Issues?"

"That's polite for an ass kicking."

I punched the button to cool down on the treadmill and slowly began to come down off my high. "Tell me how to get her to talk seriously with me." I waited until Tank met my gaze before adding, "She could be good—very good—but not with this attitude of hers."

That Mississippi River grin of his was back. "Lula's nothing _but _attitude, Ranger. Where the hell you been?"

I slowed down to a brisk walk. "Work on her for me," I commanded. "I have plans."

"What sort of plans?"

"Plans I'm not willing to talk about yet," I tossed back.

He gave me another look, but shrugged good-naturedly. "Fair enough. So why'd you really call me in this early—besides wanting to whip me in shape and rag about Lula."

I stepped off the treadmill and wrapped a towel around my neck, taking a long drink of water. Sitting down on one of the weight-lifting benches, I said, "A couple of things. One is this deal down in Miami. I talked with the prospective client last night. He's anxious for me to get down there and get the ball rolling. If I don't wrap up this clusterfuck with Morelli by Monday, I'm going to need you to take over for me here, so I can fly out no later than Tuesday."

"No problem. You'll have to get me up to speed on what's happening with the search."

"It can keep for now. I've got Bobby and Lester helping me out as well. They're supposed to be following Bruce Jackson. You know if they've had any luck tracking him down yet?"

He shook his head. "I haven't heard. Cal's been trying to dig out all he can on Bulldog beyond what we already have. Said the most recent place he'd tracked him to before coming here was in Columbus, but he keeps coming up with road blocks as to what he was doing there."

"That's good info though," I noted. "I'll pass it on to Morelli. Maybe he can contact the police there and find out something."

Tank walked over and sat down directly across from me. "I had lunch down at the Dirty Dog with Raphael yesterday," he offered casually, naming one of my other employees.

I gave him a look. "You two have a sudden death wish I don't know about?"

"Shit, Ranger—you got to live once in awhile, and the Dirty Dog's got damned good chili dogs."

"It's a guaranteed heart attack waiting to happen."

Tank made a face. "You are such a killjoy at times, man."

I shrugged. "It's not like I'm telling you something you don't already know."

"_Anyway—_" Tank continued, "I ran into Deke Larson while I was there."

_Oh Shit. _Tank the Inquisinator was ready to go another round with me.

"That right?"

"He said he ran into you Tuesday night at The Pokey."

"Mmmm…hmmm," I responded noncommittally, channeling my inner Lula.

Tank's face split into another wide grin. "Said you left with a _fine _looking woman too."

"Mmmm…hmmm."

"Cut the shit, Carlos. Who was she?"

"I was there to see Lil Conroy."

"That bitch? You wouldn't be caught dead—"

"She was having an affair with Morelli's brother Tony. I thought she might be able to shed some light for me on his whereabouts."

"Deke didn't say anything about it being Lil. _Everybody _knows Lil. Deke said this gal was classy with real curly hair and beautiful brown eyes."

"Tank—"

"Who was she?"

I let out a growl of frustration and ran the towel over my face again, debating. The last thing I wanted was to get into it with Tank. Which was easier—to give him what he wanted or to give him hell for pestering me?

"It was Dr. Hamilton," I admitted reluctantly.

"Dr. Who?"

"Hamilton," I repeated through gritted teeth. "The psychologist from last Friday's paternity test."

"You mean the woman from the business card up in your livin' room?" his voice had gone Ghetto on me.

"Correct. Now are you satisfied?"

The grin grew impossibly wider. "Are you shittin'? I'm just gettin' started."

_Great. _"It was a chance meeting. She was there doing some research on a book she's writing—"

"A book? What kind of book do you write about a dive bar on Stark Street?"

"I _don't _know," I enunciated clearly. "It was a chance meeting. She ran into trouble with Deke, and I helped her out."

"_And?_"

"And nothing. I walked her to her car, which was a piece of shit. When it didn't start, I gave her a ride home. Period."

"Was she pretty?"

"No," I said evenly, trying to maintain my casual posture. It was the truth. Cheryl Sullivan would never be classified as pretty. Intriguing, sexy and irritating as hell perhaps, but _not _pretty.

_She's haunted your dreams for two nights, Carlos._

Okay, so she was beautiful. _Damn it._

Tank eyed me closely. "It's too soon, isn't it."

Caught up in the image from my dream, I missed his comment. "What?"

"Another woman. It's too soon after Stephanie, isn't it."

"You're making _way _more out of this than is necessary. It was a freak encounter. I helped her out of a potential bind. That's it."

"But it's too soon."

_Jesus, I wish he'd shut up. _"I've been out with a woman since Stephanie chose Morelli. Gitty and I went to dinner just a few weeks ago." I smiled, thinking of my good friend, the model in New York City.

"But not since Stephanie and Morelli got married."

"You're like a goddamned dog with a bone, Tank. And you're ruining the relaxed feeling I was enjoying after my workout. _Drop it._"

He finally seemed to realize I was serious. "Alright, consider it dropped."

"Thank you."

He waited until I'd stood and was headed for the door before getting in one last parting shot, "Just don't give up, Ranger. There's more to life than Stephanie Morelli."

The hitch in my step wouldn't be noticeable to anyone but him. "You're right," I agreed brusquely and kept on going.

Out in the hallway, I leaned up against the wall. _He was right_. There _was _more to life than Stephanie. The problem was I wasn't ready to face that life without her yet.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"What time is it?" I groaned from my prone position on the bathroom floor.

"Six forty. You think that's the last go-round?"

"I don't know." I moaned again. "Oh God, don't ever let me see a jar of peanut butter again in my life. You hear me, Morelli? Come to think it; don't let me see that 'twin-making totem pole' of yours around me ever again either. Got it?"

Joe tried to hide a smile by cupping his chin with his hand. He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub waiting to see if I was going to hurl up any more of last night's Meatball Madness. _What the hell had I been thinking? _This was worse than my battle with the schnapps from Joe's Uncle Lou three years ago. Taking the Zofran off-schedule and getting to bed later than normal hadn't helped the situation any either.

He handed me a damp washcloth. "Let me help you."

"You need to get going," I noted miserably. I wanted nothing more than for both of us go back to bed and have Joe hold me for the next seven months or until whenever _his _children decided to make an appearance.

Helping me to stand, he waited while I brushed my teeth before carrying me back to bed. After the positive direction I'd been going in for the past few days, I was bummed at how truly lousy I felt.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, while he tucked the covers around me.

"_I'm _the one who's sorry—sorry you have to endure this misery; sorry I have to leave you when you're obviously feeling miserable; sorry that—"

"How about we call it a draw?" I offered weakly.

"Fair enough." He leaned down and gave me a soft kiss. "What can I do for you?"

"Throw all the peanut butter jars away."

He laughed. "Somehow I have a feeling you're going to be changing your mind in another hour or two. Besides, we _still _haven't gone grocery shopping. Right now we're out of everything."

I let out a tired sigh. "I'll try to go sometime today."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Cupcake, but you aren't going anywhere. No car, remember?"

Anger immediately coursed through me as I recalled the condition of the SUV still sitting at Pino's. "Stupid bitch. Have you arrested her yet?"

"It's not worth it. Better just to ignore her."

"_Hunh. _Maybe in your male world, but in my female world, that slut needs to be taken out. And I'm just the woman to do it."

"Whoa, tiger—maybe in a few months, okay?" Brushing the hair off of my forehead, he continued, "I sent a text to Bucky letting him know to send a wrecker as soon as he opens. All he has to do is put new tires on it this time, so I'd imagine you'll have wheels by the end of the day."

"I _can't_ just sit around here," I groused.

"Want me to have your dad bring Big Blue over?"

"No!" I lifted my head, protesting vigorously, and then flopped back down, fighting the nausea swirling in my throat and stomach. "I swore I'd never drive that monster again. I'll walk to your mom's house later this morning."

Joe frowned. "I don't like the idea of you walking outside unprotected—"

"I'll take Bob—"

"Steph—"

"_And_ my gun. Don't hover, Morelli, or I'll start calling you hubby again."

"Shoot, and you were doing so well with Joe," he teased lightly. "Come to think of it you never did get the chance to put peanut butter on my—"

"Joe!"

"Of course now you don't want my—what'd you call it—oh yeah, my '_twin-making totem pole' _anywhere near you."

He ran a finger beneath the neck of the t-shirt I was wearing. "That's a damned shame too. My totem pole _loves _being near you."

Despite the nausea, my body instantly warmed in all the right places. "Perhaps I was being a bit hasty in my criticism," I offered, squirming cautiously. "Maybe I should've said 'sword of pleasure'."

"How about 'giant salami'?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows playfully.

I snorted. "I'm thinking more like 'spear of sensuality'?"

He frowned. "'No 'big banana'?"

"More like 'delusions of grandeur'? 'Cause that's what you have, Morelli." _I was such a liar. _He had plenty of grandeur!

He bent over and kissed me more thoroughly, smiling the whole time. "I love you, Steph. I'm sorry, but I have to go. I'm meeting Rodriguez and Davis at seven. Get some rest, and I'll call you later."

"Okay," I sighed again. "Good luck at Nagel's."

"Thanks."

* * *

The next time I opened my eyes it was nearing eight o'clock, and my cell phone was ringing.

"Hello?" I croaked groggily.

"Stephanie? It's your mother."

_Sigh. _"Hi, Mom."

"You sound as though you're still in bed, dear."

"Yeah—I wasn't feeling too hot earlier, so I decided to sleep in a bit."

"I'm certain all that running around you did yesterday didn't help matters," she offered dryly.

"How did you—?" _GRRRR…Mrs. Morelli! _"I'm fine. It was something I ate that didn't agree with me."

"Meatball subs will definitely do that to you." This time she sounded downright sarcastic.

"What? How?" I sputtered.

"Lisa Wisneski called Val last night, who called me. Evidently, you and Joseph had diner at Pino's. Now _there's _a healthy meal to be serving my grandbabies if I've ever heard one. _Really_, Stephanie—peanut butter?"

"I had broccoli," I said in my defense.

"No doubt drowned in butter and cheese sauce."

"No—it was plain, salty and horrible. It's probably what made me sick this morning."

"Well, I want you and Joseph to come to dinner tonight. I'm making roast beef and red potatoes."

My stomach must've taken a turn toward the better while I was sleeping, because what she'd described actually sounded pretty good.

"I can't speak for Joe, but I'll be there—that is if I have a ride by then. My car is in the shop."

"So I heard. Julie told Val that Terri Gilman exhibited some real immaturity last night with regard to your vehicle."

"Immaturity? She's a raving nutcase is what she is!" I corrected angrily. "I ought to sue her. Where's Albert's work number?"

"My advice would be to leave it alone," my mother spoke wisely. "You have more important things to worry about right now. Speaking of which, what's happening with Joseph's brothers?"

She might have muttered something about those damn Morelli boys beneath her breath, but I couldn't be certain.

"They haven't been found, and it's way too big of a mess to try and explain over the phone."

"At dinner then."

"But _not _in front of Joe. He needs a break from all of this."

"Alright."

"I'll call you if he can't make it."

"Get some rest. Stop trying to be Superwoman—"

"It's _Wonder _Woman, Mom."

"What? Oh, never mind—your most important job right now is taking care of your babies."

_Duh—like I didn't know that! _But why couldn't she understand how difficult it was for me to slow down after years of going at breakneck speed?

"I'll try. Bye Mom."

Bob had apparently decided to join me at some point during my morning nap for the red fur monster was pressed up as tightly as possible by my side. He'd also managed to find one of my favorite red heels and was currently using it as a chew toy. _  
_

"You're lucky you're so darn cute," I told him, taking away the shoe. "Otherwise you'd be out on the street, bub."

He wagged his tail in absolute adoration.

"Come on. Let's see if we can find both of us something to eat, so I can take another bushelful of pills."

I sat up gingerly, pleased to find the nausea had finally abated. No sooner had I stood up though than my phone rang again. _Unknown Number._

"Hello?"

"Hi Steph—it's Cathy."

_Aargh_! I'd completely forgotten about Joe's sisters wanting to get together with me.

"Oh—Hi. Sorry I haven't gotten back to you sooner."

"That's okay. Did you have a chance to look at some dates when Mary and I could take you out?"

_Not really. I've been busy trying to help find your two worthless older brothers. _

"Uh—no—sorry. It's been a little crazy with Joe's schedule and trying to find—"

"No problem," she interrupted cheerfully. "How about Friday night?"

"Friday night—as in tomorrow?"

"Yeah. We thought we could do dinner and a movie or something, unless you'd rather go shopping for baby stuff."

_Baby stuff? _

"I don't know about tomorrow night, Cathy. I'm working with a team to try and help Joe track down Tony and Paul, and—"

"Life doesn't begin and end with the Morelli boys, Steph," she cut in, trying to sound pleasant and doing a poor job of it. _  
_

"I didn't think it did," I responded evenly, "but maybe now isn't the best time to be socializing. We need to find them. For one thing, there's the bond on your mother's house to consider—"

"Which had she bothered to ask Mary or me, neither of us would have allowed her to put herself at risk like that again."

_Did Joe realize how bitter his sisters were?_

"I'd still like to help Joe all I can."

"He's the only one worth helping, that's for damned sure," she muttered. "Fine. How about next week Tuesday for lunch instead?"

_What on earth was the rush?_

"I appreciate how kind you're being, Cathy. I really do. But I won't feel comfortable planning anything until we know what's happening with Tony and Paul. And shouldn't we wait for Adrienne and Angelina to get back, so they can join us too?"

"Back? Back from where?"

_Shit. _I'd forgotten I hadn't told them at the courthouse about their decision to leave town and why. I did _not _want to have to get into all of this with my new sister-in-law.

"I thought Joe had told your mom about their decision to go someplace safe until the boys were found."

"I'm sure he did tell her, but no one seems to think Mary and I need to know anything."

_Unbelievable! The whole family damned kept secrets from one another. _No wonder they were all dysfunctional.

"Well, they're not in town, and I wouldn't mind waiting until they can join us. I'd like to get to know _all _of you better." Okay, so that wasn't quite the truth, but it sounded good.

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"I _suppose _that would be okay. But I'll confess, Mary and I don't usually like to do things with Angelina and Adrienne."

"Because?"

"Let's just say they aren't exactly our cup of tea."

_Yes, but why? _My naturally inquisitive personality was going haywire. Yet more questions for me to ask Joe at a later date.

"How about we talk again after this business with your brothers is resolved one way or another."

She gave a little click of her tongue. "Sure. Tell Joe I said hello."

"Will do. Take care."

Tossing the phone down, I looked at Bob, who was still staring covetously at the red heel in my other hand. "What the hell have I married into, Bob?"

His eyebrows wiggled back and forth in the way I loved so dearly. It was as if he knew exactly what I was saying.

"I know—we should think about it later. Right now you want food, and so do I. Come on, boy. Let's go see if RJ's hungry too."

After having talked with Joe's sister, I was dreading my upcoming visit with his mother even more.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"You're sure you guys aren't going to get hammered by Reynolds for being here?"

"Relax, Morelli—everything's Kosher. I told him you were requesting our presence as a gesture of goodwill between jurisdictions," Keith Chapman explained patiently, while Al Walker stood beside him.

"Alright. I just don't want you two going down with the rest of us if this thing blows up in our faces."

"Well hell, Morelli—what about us?" Rodriguez poked good-naturedly. "Don't the kid and I get a say in our future demise?"

"No."

Rodriguez merely laughed, while Stumpy Davis continued to watch me with those overeager eyes of his. I kept waiting for him to stick out his tongue and wag his tail.

"Let's do this then." I motioned for Chapman to open the door to Nagel's place, and we all stepped into what could only be described as a hellhole.

"Ah Jeez," Rodriguez shook his head disgustedly. "This'll take all day."

"More than that," Walker noted, looking around in dismay.

It was true. The place was a pigsty. Not only had Nagel been a drug dealer but obviously a hoarder as well. You couldn't move for all the junk he had lying in stacks about the place.

"How the hell could your department have overlooked this organization all these years?" I wondered, trying hard to keep censure out of my voice.

Luckily Chapman and Walker seemed equally as stunned. "It's a damned good question," Chapman said wonderingly. He was as taken aback as the rest of us.

Heaving a huge sigh, I resolved myself to what lie ahead—hours of painstakingly slow and filthy work. "Let's break up and each tackle an area of the house. Walker—take the garage. Chapman—the bedrooms. Rodriguez, you handle the living area, and I'll take the office." I made a face at Stumpy. "Sorry, kid—low man on the totem pole gets the basement."

He shrugged and set off to work. Hearing myself say the words 'totem pole' made me think of Stephanie and our early morning banter. I sure as hell hoped she was feeling better. Just the thought of her having to face my mother without me brought about sufficient guilt, let alone the knowledge of what she'd have to endure in order to get her hands on the photo albums and scrapbooks my mother had kept through the years. Making a mental note to do something special for my wife later, I set my mind on the task ahead.

There were a lot better ways I could think of to spend the day, but if it helped my cause, I'd face the junk like a man.

_Thank God for rubber gloves._

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

It was fast approaching ten o'clock, and so far Lula and I had accomplished nothing. Completely gone was any semblance of the awestruck woman I'd witnessed the past two days whenever we'd been alone. The woman in her place refused to say more than two words to me at a time—only now it was due to a downright sulky attitude.

We were making the rounds through Trenton again, checking all the usual haunts of the Morelli boys as well as Jason Meachum and his cronies. So far there'd been no sign of anything—or anyone—including Bulldog. Come to think of it, there'd been no word from Bobby or Lester either.

All semblance of relaxation I'd felt after my morning workout was long gone, and my frustration level was back with a vengeance. Work for Rangeman was beginning to pile up while I continued on this wild goose chase, despite Tank's capable efforts of leading. I needed to wrap up this business with Morelli soon before my _own _business suffered the price of my absence.

And Lula. _What the hell was I supposed to do with her? _Despite her foolish behavior, she'd impressed me over the past couple of days with her abilities. They were far better than I would ever have imagined given her past, her build and her mouth. She was fucking smart—way smarter than she'd been given credit for. I hadn't been lying to Tank when I'd told him I had plans for her. If I could just finish this crap with Morelli, maybe I'd be able to address those plans. But in the meantime, I had to find a way to get Lula to talk seriously with me. Better yet to take this _training_ seriously.

We were once again on Hamilton. Lula was staring out the window beside me, and the silence in the car had grown to the point where even _I _was getting uncomfortable. Up ahead, I spotted a not-so-familiar landmark—at least to me. On the spur of the moment, I wheeled into the parking lot of The Donut Hole and shut off the engine to the Turbo.

"Let's grab a donut," I suggested, opening the driver's side door."

She was sans sunglasses today, so I was able to see her eyes widen in disbelief. "Say what?"

"A donut—you know—those round things filled with nothing but poison? Let's get one."

"You too?" she asked, completely mystified.

Clenching my jaw, I nodded. _Clearly, I was desperate._

"Me too," I confirmed, "My treat."

I expected her to jump out of her skin with excitement at my offer, but she merely shrugged. "Okay."

Inside the hole-in-a-wall, she immediately puffed up as we approached the counter.

"Hey Chickie," she greeted another large woman, who was wearing a uniform three sizes too small. "I'll have a jellyroll."

The waitress waited impatiently for Lula to continue, all the while raking her inquisitive eyes up and down my body.

"And?" she asked, her fingers poised above the computer upon which she placed orders.

"And that's it," Lula nodded decisively.

"_Only one_?" Chickie asked incredulously.

"That's right. What'll you have, Boss Man?"

"Boss Man! Is that what you call your johns these days, Lula?" She let out a cackle and looked at Lula's self-made garb. "What in the hell are you wearin' anyway?"

My protégé gave her a steely-eyed gaze. "My uniform. You know I ain't been turnin' tricks in three years, Chickie. Let it go and just get me the damned donut."

"Touchy," the older woman sniffed. "How about you, handsome. You want something too?"

_Yes, I want to go home, drown myself in a glass of scotch and a pile of work and forget all about these people who've suddenly invaded my well-ordered world. _

Staring at all of the fried blobs of lard in front of me, I almost gave in and ordered a bran muffin, but that wasn't going to help my cause with Lula any.

"I'll have a cinnamon glazed and coffee."

Lula's grin was huge. Opening her bag, she pulled out a wallet. "Make that two coffees," she ordered and then announced shyly, "On me."

"Thank you."

_Okay, one step in the right direction. _She'd ignored my offer to pay in order to show appreciation toward my willingness to be flexible. Little did she know _her_ sacrifice was perhaps a greater indication of her interest in being part of a team.

Chickie quickly put our order onto a tray, and I led Lula as far across the room and away from the prying waitress' eyes and ears as possible. The way Trenton and the Burg worked I'd probably be known as Lula's new boyfriend by morning.

We took our seats, and Lula wasted no time digging into her jellyroll, while I eyed the sickeningly sweet pastry in front of me. Taking a bite, my stomach immediately protested the unfamiliar processed food. Lula looked thrilled I was doing something as mundane as eating a donut, however, and so I forced myself to suck it up and take an even bigger bite.

Following a healthy swig of coffee to force the dough down, I began. "Let's talk."

Instantly her eyes turned leery. "Am I in trouble?"

"_No_, you're not in trouble. But I need for you to stop with all of this bullshit whenever we're around other people and talk to _me_ instead."

"I talk to you," she replied with just a hint of attitude.

"No, you don't. You purposefully withhold your intelligence from me—and everyone else too for that matter. Why is that?"

My praise caught her off guard. "You think I'm smart?" she gulped.

As much as I liked giving off the impression I'm impervious to everything around me, my heart wasn't made of stone. Her simple question ate simultaneously at both my gut and conscience. How many times had I overlooked this woman in the past three years, thinking she was nothing but an appendage attached to the one who'd solely captured my eyes—Stephanie.

"I think you're smart," I affirmed, allowing her to see I was serious. "And not just street smart."

Her whole body began to swell with pride like it had with Chickie at the counter, and I quickly drilled her with a pointed look, adding, "However, you're also a smart_ass_, and that's the problem."

Her hopeful face deflated like a balloon. The petulant manner was back—in spades.

"It's my personality," she protested, examining her fingernails.

"Personality is one thing—being insubordinate is yet another. If you want to be good in this business, then you need to follow orders. That means talking to _me, _asking _me _questions and not fooling around."

"Where's the fun in _that_?"

"Pardon me?" I simply wasn't used to people questioning my authority.

"Why can't I learn and still have fun? That's what Girlie and I always did. 'Cuz what's the point of doin' something if you ain't havin' fun?"

_Because having fun is what got the two of you into trouble all the time. _

"Lula, do you even _like_ bounty hunting?" I asked accusingly.

"Why you ask that?" she demanded, her face clouding over again. "You plannin' on telling Vinnie I ain't good enough."

"Didn't I just finish saying I thought you were intelligent? You _could _be good—very good, in fact. But not with this continual attitude of yours."

That seemed to irritate her. "You don't know nothin' about me or my attitude."

"I know more than you think—at least what your life was like before you joined the Bonds Office."

"_Hunh. _You ever been a 'ho?"

I grimaced. "Obviously not, but I've lived on the streets. I know."

"Mmmmm…hmmmm."

"This isn't about the past—yours or mine. It's about the future. Let's cut the shit—just for moment at least. _Do _you like bounty hunting?"

She stared at me for a long minute.

"I'm about ready to walk out that door and say to hell with this whole fucking experiment," I warned. _And I was too._

Rolling her eyes, she admitted reluctantly, "At first it was merely an excuse for getting' out of doin' the damned filing. Connie and me are tight, but I was getting' claustrophobic. When Steph offered me the chance to ride along with her, I grabbed it."

"You haven't answered my question. Do you _like _it?"

"_Yes_, I like it," she cried in frustration. "It's a new challenge everyday. And how could I _not_ like hangin' with Steph? The girl's a trip a minute. I'm gonna miss her," her voice trailed off.

Clearing my throat, I said awkwardly, "You're right—Stephanie is fun to be around."

_It hurt to say the words, but it was the truth._

"Mmmmm…hmmm," Lula hummed again.

She nailed me with a critical gaze. "Why'd you agree to do this for Vinnie anyway? Am I just some pawn you're usin' in an attempt to stick it to Morelli, or are you really interested in helpin' me become a better bounty hunter? 'Cuz I ain't so sure I'm cool with it bein' door number one."

"You don't trust me."

Understanding dawned. Her lack of trust was the fundamental problem of why things weren't going well between us.

"I barely _know _you, and you sure as hell don't know me."

"That's not true—"

"It _is _true. When've you ever seen me as bein' more than the loud-mouthed, big girl helping Steph? Hell, you couldn't even ride in the same damned car yesterday with me without bringing her along. Sharin' all your thoughts and theories with her like I'm some kind of third wheel, when I'm supposed to be the one you're teachin'. Are you usin' me to screw her husband? Better yet, are you thinkin' this will be your way to get back to screwin' _her_ somehow?"

"I _asked _if you were okay with Stephanie riding along, and you said yes."

"What the hell was I supposed to say on my first day? But Lula don't appreciate bein' used as some sort of tool for revenge. Nuh-uh—I don't play that way. It ain't no secret I think you're the shit, but I won't stand by and allow anyone to treat _me_ like shit. No sir, Lula's done with those days."

She scowled. "_And_ I ain't helping you sabotage Steph and Morelli either."

I could see now I'd foolishly overlooked her pride. Worse yet, I'd crushed both her ego and whatever awe-struck attitude she'd had toward me by not being more aware of her feelings. I was the head of a highly successful security business and the employer of dozens of employees. _How in the hell had I mi_ss_ed something this simple?_

"You're not being used as a pawn," I said in a no-nonsense tone, finally answering her question. "I'll admit I was resistant to the idea when Vinnie first asked me to train you, because I thought bonds enforcement was all a joke to you. Perhaps I jumped to that conclusion too hastily."

"_Hunh." _She was looking down at her empty plate, still sulking.

"I want to take you seriously," I continued. "I think you have a future—either with Vinnie or possibly with Rangeman."

Her head snapped up, and her mouth dropped.

"You serious?"

"_If _you get that ass of yours in line and start giving me your best."

"No bullshit?"

"No bullshit. And in return, I'll start giving you the best of what I have to offer with regard to training."

"No more stickin' me in some room with stupid ass videos from the 1970's?

I bristled. "There's still relevant material on those—"

She rolled her eyes. "Puleez—the bounty hunters were wearin' paisley shirts."

"Fine. I'll offer you my best _hands-on _training."

"Deal." She held out her hand, and I met it with mine over the table.

"I'm willing to give you my best, Lula, but only if you give me the same in return."

The attitude was back. "I'll give you my best. But just remember—I ain't Steph."

"No, you're not," I agreed, amused by the obvious. The thought of how different the two of them were had the side of my mouth lifting slightly.

She sensed the mood change and allowed her own smile to slowly creep back over her face.

Winking slyly, she continued, "At least I don't keep my gun in no damned cookie jar."

I couldn't stop the short bark of laugh that escaped from my throat. "True, although your gun _is_ pink_._" Sobering, I added, "I've misjudged you, Lula."

And in a way, I'd misjudged my best friend too_. Tank had one hell of a woman on his hands._

"Damn Skippy, you have," she agreed. "But you ain't the first, and you won't be the last."

Seeing as neither of us was big into apologies, I left it at that.

My phone buzzed as we headed back to the car.

"'Yo—Ranger."

"It's Lester."

"Finally. Where've you two been?"

"Trying to find a needle in a haystack," he grumbled. "We've finally tracked down Bulldog. He's been skulking around some warehouses off of Lovell Street."

Lovell was in the beaten down industrial section over in the vicinity of Stark Street. "Did he go inside?"

"Negative. He spent quite a bit of time peeking in windows. Now he's in his car, and Bobby's tailing him. No idea where."

"Not too close," I warned. "He's former cop, and no idiot."

"We know the drill."

"What's the address on those warehouses?" Motioning toward Lula's notebook, I repeated his response for her to write down. "Alright, good work. Keep in touch," I instructed.

"Later."

Turning to Lula, I said, "Bobby and Lester have located Bulldog. He was down on Lovell Street checking into some warehouses. What do you say we go take a look at what had him so interested."

"Sounds good," she agreed, settling more comfortably into her seat than earlier. Maybe our talk had helped at least a little bit.

"After that we'll head back to Rangeman, and we'll work on self-defense."

"As long as it ain't on videotape, we're cool."

Firing up the engine, I remembered I'd yet to contact Morelli about Cal's discovery regarding Bulldog having been in Columbus before Trenton. Using my cell phone, I texted him: _Bulldog in Columbus last. Call police there for possible details._

Moments later, I received: _Will do. Thanks. Anything else?_

_B&L found Bulldog. In pursuit. Lula and I following up lead. You?_

_At Nagel's. Unbelievable mess. Digging our way through._

Setting the phone aside, I briefly wondered what Stephanie was up to. Morelli had said he needed her help today. I hoped to God he didn't have her in that drug dealer's place, picking through the mess. That was the last thing she needed with morning sickness. My jaw clenched out of habit with concern for her.

_Not your business any longer, Carlos._

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

Standing on Mrs. Morelli's front stoop with Bob, I tried to work up the courage to ring the doorbell. _Oh, how I was already regretting what I was about to do. _Suddenly my cell phone rang, startling me.

_Mary Lou._

"Hey," I whispered.

"I thought we'd agreed you weren't going to make yourself scarce from my life any longer, particularly since I've saved your sorry butt on more than one occasion of late."

"What're you talking about? I just talked with you on Monday morning."

"That's _three _frickin' days ago," she complained. "With your crazy life, you could've had your babies, divorced Morelli and moved to Outer Slavonia by now."

"You're so funny," I quipped derisively. "In case you hadn't heard, my life's been a little stressful since returning from Barbados."

"Oh really?" she drawled. "I thought that was just a normal week in the life of Stephanie Plum."

"Morelli," I corrected irritably, "and don't tease a pregnant person, especially after the morning I've had."

"What'd you eat?" she asked knowingly.

"Peanut butter on a Pino's meatball sub."

_Silence._

"That might quite possibly go down as the worst food craving in the history of pregnancy," she marveled. "It's a wonder you're still alive."

"I'm not so sure I am."

Bob pulled on his leash impatiently. Maybe he'd sensed I'd been talking about food.

During our conversation, I'd been speaking in an undertone. Without thought, Mary Lou had done the same.

"Why are we whispering?" she finally thought to ask.

"Because I'm standing on my mother-in-law's front porch, trying to get up the nerve to go in."

"And _why_ do you need to go in?"

"Long story, but I'm doing something for my husband, who's about at the end of his rope."

"That bad?" She was all seriousness now. "I've been trying to keep up on the news, but I'm assuming things have gotten worse with his brothers."

"Yeah—it's a nightmare. We'll need to catch up on everything next week for sure. I need new bras anyway."

She sniggered. "Told you those puppies would swell up. Joe must be in Seventh Heaven."

"I could look like Flat Stanley, and Joe would be happy," I retorted dryly.

"True. You're a lucky girl, Mrs. Morelli."

Sighing, I agreed. "I know."

"Okay, I'll let you go face the dragon—oops—I mean your lovely mother-in-law. Have a nice visit, and be sure to tell her I said hello."

"Gee thanks. See you."

Dropping the phone into my bag, I looked up to find Grandma Bella had opened the door. She stood there watching me, arms folded across her chest. Bob wasted no time in breaking free and dashing toward the kitchen.

"Oh—hello," I greeted, forcing a smile to my lips.

She didn't return the smile. "I knew you were coming. I saw it in a vision. Angela's in the kitchen preparing tea."

I stood there uncertainly. _She'd had another vision?_

"Are you coming in, or are you going to stand there wasting more time on the telephone?" she grunted, stepping aside for me to enter.

She led me into the dining room where a plate of homemade blueberry muffins waited on the table, along with a bowl of fresh fruit and a platter of ham. My stomach growled appreciatively. It'd been slim pickings in our own kitchen that morning.

Mrs. Morelli walked in with a pot of tea. She looked tired and even older than our last meeting Monday in the courtroom. As with Joe, stress was clearly taking a toll on her. Upon seeing me, however, her face lit up. "Stephanie! For once, Bella's nonsensical visions were right. How nice to see you."

I couldn't resist giving her a little grief. "Yes, I came to thank you for letting my mother know about my busy afternoon yesterday."

She didn't have the good sense to look embarrassed. "We mothers stick together," she said without shame. "You'll see."

Setting down the pot, she gave me a hug. "Sit down, sweetheart. Are you hungry?"

_Who was she kidding? _"I could eat," I responded as demurely as I was capable of being, which wasn't saying much.

The three of us took our places at the dining room table, and Angie went to work filling a plate of food for me. "How are you feeling?"

Deciding it best not to share about the Meatball Madness, I shrugged. "I'm alright. Tired, but for the most part I'm feeling okay."

"The meatball sub from Pino's didn't upset your stomach too much?"

My mouth dropped. "My mother—?"

She actually giggled. "No, one of the waitresses there is a niece of mine. She called to say she'd seen Joseph and happened to mention your meal choice."

_Perfect segue._

I quickly jumped in before she could rag at me about my diet. "This Morelli family is huge," I noted, adding a dramatic sigh for affect. Ignoring Bella's inquisitive stare, I continued, "I'm not certain I'll ever be able to keep everyone straight. I'm having trouble with just the immediate family."

"It's a brood to be sure," Angela agreed carelessly, continuing to focus on the food.

I cleared my throat. "Actually, it's a big concern for me—the fact that I don't know everyone's names. I'm ashamed to admit I don't even know for sure how many nieces and nephews Joe has."

"You mean he hasn't told you?" she asked, one eyebrow cocked curiously.

I wasn't even sure if _he _knew.

"Um—no. Family never came up much before we were married," I answered honestly.

A shadow crossed her face, and I watched her exchange an uncomfortable look with Bella, who merely grunted.

"Well, that's unfortunate," she observed stiffly. "We're planning on getting you introduced to everyone once this unfortunate business with Anthony and Paul is taken care of. Speaking of which, have you heard anything more about the situation?" she asked hopefully. "What did you find at their homes yesterday?"

I wasn't about to tell her where Angelina, Adrienne and the kids were staying, nor did I really want to tell her that someone else had apparently been staying in Paul's home. "Not much," I responded lamely.

_Joe was SO going to owe me after this little visit._

"Back to the family for a moment," I tried to steer the conversation around. "Thanksgiving will be here soon, and I'd really like the chance to be able to memorize everyone's faces before we're all together. It'd make me feel more comfortable."

I could feel Bella's hawk-eyed gaze upon my face. Trying not to flush, I forged ahead, "Would it be possible for me to borrow any photo albums or scrapbooks you might have in order to prepare myself?"

Mrs. Morelli frowned. "I'm not certain—"

"Get the books, Angie," Bella ordered gruffly, surprising the hell out of me. "The girl's made a legitimate request."

Angela huffed quietly, but obediently stood. "They're upstairs. I'll be back in a moment."

She'd no sooner left the room, then Bella leaned over the table and pinned me with another stare. "Be careful what you start, Stephanie. Are you prepared for a firestorm?"

"Huh?" I asked weakly.

"Am I stuttering? You know exactly what I mean. You're here to find out about my son—about the past. You think I'm stupid? I tell everyone what I see, but no one believes."

Oh. My. God.

How had she known? Did this mean she really had the eye? And if so, what did that mean for my babies? She'd only seen one. Was I doomed to lose the other?

"I can't see if this obsession of yours is helpful or hurtful, but I have seen that you're doing it out of love for Joseph."

Deciding it was silly to deny her perceptiveness, I demanded boldly, "Can you help me? When and how did your son die?"

She stole a peek over her shoulder to see Angie was returning. "I am nothing but an old woman whom nobody believes. One who's lucky enough to have her widowed daughter-in-law to provide her with a place to live. The past is the past for a reason, and you're playing with fire. My advice is to leave it buried."

Bella sat back in her chair just as Mrs. Morelli came back into the room, heaving a stack of dusty photo albums onto the table.

"I don't know why you want to lug all of this stuff home," she said exasperatedly. "I could just pull a few photos for you to use. It'd be much easier, and you wouldn't have to waste so much time."

Not daring to look at Bella, I smiled. "Time seems to be something I have a lot of these days. I'd really like to see what you have, Angie. I know so little about your family."

Her expression immediately tightened. "I'm afraid we're not that interesting."

"I'm sure that's not true. I want to hear more about Joe's childhood and figure out who belongs to whom in this family. It'll help me feel closer to you all."

Running her hand over the top of one of the scrapbooks, she looked me in the eye. "Stephanie, I know what you're up to."

"You do?" I'd just taken a bite of blueberry muffin and nearly choked.

"You want to pick up where you left off last Thursday with me in your bedroom. You want to poke and prod your way into our family's past. And I'm asking you to stop—now."

_What was I supposed to do? _I didn't want to piss off my new mother-in-law, and yet, I knew Joe needed to understand his past in order to figure out what those disturbing flashbacks he'd been having meant.

"I can't stop," I blurted before I could censor myself. I refused to look at Bella, who was no doubt shaking her head at my imprudence.

Her eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean you _can't?_ Of course you can."

"No, Mrs. Morelli—Angie—I really can't. Joe needs to understand his childhood. Not knowing is affecting him in unhealthy ways."

She became annoyed. "Stop talking nonsense. My Joseph is fine."

I decided it was time to start laying some of my cards on the table. "He's _not _fine. He's been having dreams lately—flashbacks from his childhood."

Mrs. Morelli's spine was so stiff; it was a wonder her back didn't snap in half. "This is foolishness. Now you're sounding like Bella."

"It's _not_ foolishness," I countered, trying to control the anger and frustration rising within me. "You can pretend all you want, but there's no doubt in Joe's mind something happened when he was a child, and you're all protecting him from it. He's bound and determined to understand the secrets of this family."

"Why are you pushing this so?" her voice trembled. I wasn't certain if it was from fear, anger or sadness. More than likely it was all three. "Everything was fine until you two got married."

_What the hell?_

"Gee thanks—first I'm sweetheart, and now I'm the cause of all your family's problems? Give me a break, _Mom_. This stuff has been festering like a bad blister for _years_, and you know it!"

"I'm sorry," she backpedaled. "Of course you're a welcome addition to the family, but this persistence of yours to stir up things—"

"I'm not stirring up 'things'. We're talking about your _son_. I'm helping him, because he asked me to, and because I love him more than anything else in the world. I won't stand by and watch him suffer any more."

"You have no idea what kind of a can of worms you're threatening to open."

"Tell me then. Help me to understand."

"I _can't,_" she whispered, oblivious to the matched pair of tears slowly making their way down either side of her face. "I've made promises."

"Oh for Christ's sake," I snapped.

"Stephanie!" she gasped in horror. Bella frowned as well but remained abnormally silent.

I was livid. "The secrets in this family are so thick, I could cover them in frosting to sell at a bake sale. The only problem is they're all made out of bullshit!"

Her eyes flashed. "Young lady, you will not swear in this house. Do I need to call your mother again?"

I dropped my head forward—not in worry or guilt, but in an effort to not reach out and strangle her. _How blind and apathetic could a mother be toward her own son's pain?_

Lifting it slowly back up, I pinned her with a purposeful gaze. "Angie, when did Rocco die?"

Her eyes went deadly cold. "I'm not doing this."

"It's public record. I'll find out one way or another."

"Leave. It. Alone," she demanded. Her hand was clenched on top of the photo albums. "Bella, make her stop."

"No." I held out a hand to stop Bella from speaking. "Help me here. Help your son—the one you have such hopes for. _Help _him to heal before _he_ becomes a father himself."

"I _can't!_" she shrilled, standing up. Her whole body was shaking. "I've been sworn to secrecy by an authority higher than family loyalty. I won't break that vow, and neither will any of my children."

_What?_

"Angela—" Bella finally spoke.

"No!" she cried out, and then dropped her voice to give a raspy warning. "You tell Joseph to stop this nonsense. He has his whole life ahead of him with a beautiful wife and two children on the way. He shouldn't waste one second thinking about an event that took place twenty-seven years ago." Her words were coming in angry bursts, as she attempted to regain control of her emotions.

I stood as well. "Are you listening to yourself? How can he _not _think about it? It's consuming him, along with the worry, anger and grief he feels over what's happening to his two former idols—his brothers. How can you be so cruel as to leave him in the dark—"

"You aren't a mother, Stephanie," Angie said in a dull voice. "Not yet. Some day you'll know _exactly _how far a mother is willing to go to protect her children." She lifted her chin proudly. "Now, I think it's time for you and I to put this conversation behind us. There's no sense in having bad blood in our newly forged relationship."

I was dumbfounded by her attitude. "May I take the albums and the scrapbooks home with me?" I asked dully.

"The albums yes, but not the scrapbooks." Her tone booked no room for argument. "Those are personal."

_Because the answers probably lie in there. _"Thank you," I responded stiffly, anxious to leave and feeling as though I'd failed Joe.

Bella continued to watch me with her assessing eyes. She'd pulled out her rosary and was fumbling gnarled fingers through the beads slowly and methodically.

"Let's sit down and eat," Angela offered awkward, her hands still shaking from our encounter.

"No thank you," I answered stiffly, equally as uncomfortable. "I really should get going. I have a lot to accomplish today."

Her eyes glittered at my implication, but she remained silent.

Within fifteen minutes, I'd collected Bob, who'd happily found a potholder to chew on in the kitchen. Slipping the photo albums into a backpack I'd had the forethought to bring, I added the bag of leftovers Mrs. Morelli had packed for me. I also checked to make sure my gun was within easy reach.

At the door, she gave me another hug. "I know you mean well, Stephanie, and believe me, it warms my heart to see how much you love my son. But for everyone's sake, I'm asking you to please let this go. Concentrate on the future and your babies and allow _me _to worry about the past and _my_ babies."

"If I could, I would," I said, forcing myself to look her in the eye. "But my loyalty to Joe supersedes anything else. I'll do whatever I can to help him through these flashbacks."

Her answer was to close the door in my face.

"This is ridiculous, Bob," I said, as we prepared to set off down the walkway. "Imagine any mother not being willing to help her son."

I'd barely taken two steps when the door opened again, and Bella peeked her head out.

"Stephanie!" she whispered hoarsely.

_Now what. _"Yeah?"

"You're right about my grandson. He deserves to know the truth. Remember I warned that you'll need to be the light he needs to see through the dark times ahead."

"What the hell does all that hocus pocus you spout actually mean anyway?" I waved my arm in frustration. I wasn't even trying to be the good, new daughter-in-law any longer. It was time the other women in Joe's life accepted the real Stephanie Morelli.

"Keep pushing for the truth," she suggested, and my mouth dropped open.

I took a step back toward her. "_How_ did your son die, Bella? Help me here."

She shook her head. "I've taken a vow as well, but it's time for the past to be revisited, reclaimed and put to bed once and for all. Truth will prevail, and you're the one to fight for it."

Before I could say another word, it was _her_ turn to shut the door in my face, leaving me standing there in shock. _What the fuck?_

Whipping out my cell phone, I dialed a familiar number, but one I hadn't called in awhile.

"Eddie Gazzara."

"Hey stranger. It's Steph," I greeted, once more setting off for home with Bob and still feeling shaken by my visit with Angie and Bella.

"Mrs. Morelli," he said in a singsong tone, and I gratefully let the feeling of normalcy wash over me. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Calling to finally tell me about the double blessing in your belly?"

"Sorry," I offered, feeling guilty over our lack of contact. "No excuse, except for the truth. Life's been a little crazy since the wedding."

"So I've gathered from the scuttlebutt around the office. What's up?"

"Wondering if you can do me a huge favor."

"Do I get to hear what it is first?"

"It's personal, but I'm going on a hunch here."

"A hunch, huh?"

"Yeah, my spidey senses are kicking in."

"You're _what?_"

I laughed. "Never mind. Do you think you might be able to search the archives for crimes back in 1984."

"Perhaps. And _why _exactly would I be doing this?"

"I want to know when and how Joe's father passed away."

"Rocco?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't you just ask Joe or Mrs. Morelli?"

"It's a l-o-n-g story. Can you do it?"

"Steph, just go to the County Courthouse. They should have his death certificate on file."

"I think there's more it than just the fact he died."

He paused. "As in unnatural causes?"

"Correct."

"What are you involved in, Steph? I heard you were supposed to be taking it easy."

"I _am _taking it easy. I'm asking you to do the work, aren't I?"

He let out a sigh. "Alright. What month."

"I don't know."

"Oh for God's sake! Do you have any idea how long this could take?"

"I told you it was a huge favor."

"Now I know why you don't want to go to the courthouse. They'd laugh you out of the building."

"I'm going to do some research on the Internet when I get home, but what you find could really be helpful, Eddie."

"And this is for Joe, right? He knows what you're up to?"

"He doesn't know about this yet, but I'll tell him tonight. I promise."

He swore under his breath. "You're going to owe me, my friend. And more than likely that payment is going to be in the form of babysitting at some point in the near future."

"Babysitting?" I echoed unenthusiastically.

"Think of it as good practice."

"Right."

He let out a worried groan. "I'll be in touch."

"Thanks, Eddie."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Rodriguez poked his head into Nagel's home office where I was methodically going through the stacks of paper on his desk.

"The kid found another trunk of heroin in the basement," he announced, shaking his head in disbelief.

I looked up. "How many does that make now?"

"We've lost count."

"Fuck. This is crazy."

"It's one of the biggest busts I've ever seen. You?"

"Yeah." I ran a hand through my hair and looked at the mess around me. "We need more help."

He hesitated before answering. "Morelli, it's time—"

"I know," I cut him off in resignation. "We need to bring in Rogers and Reynolds."

The fact was Rogers had tried to reach me repeatedly on my cell phone that morning, but I'd allowed every call to go straight through to voice mail. I hadn't needed more political bullshit to distract me from the overwhelming task in front of me. Now I was worried my actions weren't going to help my cause any.

"I'm sorry, man, but we do. Reynolds needs to know what's been happening right under his nose in his own goddamned jurisdiction, and Rogers needs to know what the hell _we've_ been doing all day."

I waved him off. "I'll call him now. Anyone out there find a sign of Stampler in this place?"

"Not yet. We've got plenty of evidence Nagel was linked to Meachum and Stryker. Even records of him having met with Dorsey a few months ago, but nothing on Stampler."

"What about Paul?"

"His name's everywhere," Rodriguez said softly, almost apologetically.

I jerked my head in acknowledgement, trying to mask my disappointment. "You guys get anything to eat?"

"There's pizza in the kitchen. Walker and Chapman had to head over to their precinct for a meeting. Said they'd be back around three." He looked around disgustedly. "Well, I guess I'll get back at it."

"Thanks, Manny."

"No problem."

He left, and I pulled out my phone reluctantly. _God, I didn't want to make this phone call_.

Roger's secretary Sherry Gort answered.

"Chief Rogers' office."

"It's Joe Morelli, Sherry."

Her voice immediately became flirtatious. "Hi Joe."

_Sigh_. "Is he in?"

"He is, although I don't think you're high on his list right now. I've heard your name cursed several times today."

"I'm sure you have."

"Hold on."

Moments later, Rogers picked up the line. "Do you mind telling me where the fuck you are right now, Detective?"

"I'm in Newark with Davis and Rodriguez, searching through the cesspool that _was _Louie Nagel's operation."

"Are you crazy? You have no authorization to be there!"

"I have a warrant—"

"From whom?"

"Chief Reynolds secured one for me from a local judge."

"What! You're working with Bud Reynolds and didn't even tell me? Just who the fuck do you think you are, Morelli?"

For some reason that pissed me off.

"I'm the head of the Trenton Police Department's Vice and Homicide Division—a position _you _gave me," I said through gritted teeth. "I'm the lead investigator for the murder of Louie Nagel—an investigation _you _assigned to me. I'm doing my job, Rogers."

"Don't you dare act insubordinate with me! You're already skating on ice so thin, a ghost could fall through. Now why the hell wasn't I informed you were going after a warrant?"

"I didn't see the need, sir. It's standard procedure to investigate the home of a murdered victim. It was out of our jurisdiction, so I asked a friend from the NPD to help me with Reynolds to get a warrant, which he did. I haven't had any personal contact with Reynolds."

"That's a lovely plate of bullshit you're offering me, Morelli. Now how about you tell me what's really going on."

"Brett, you need to come here," I lightened my tone, addressing him personally—a risky move to be sure. "You need to see what's happening to believe it."

"You haven't answered my question."

"I'll tell you everything once you get here," I promised. Inside I was praying like anything I'd find some link to Stampler before he arrived.

"Joe, you are precariously close to not only having this and the Flowers investigations stripped from you, but perhaps your department as well. I've been relying on your history as a good cop, but this bull-headed doggedness you're showing by not accepting the truth about your brothers is disturbing at best and seemingly worthy of disciplinary action at worst."

"I thought you trusted me."

"I thought so too, but it's becoming goddamned embarrassing how hell-bent you are on trying to pull a rabbit out of your hat when you have no hat to begin with."

"Sir—"

"I'll be there in forty-five fucking minutes, Morelli. You better show me all your cards, or your ass is mine. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

No sooner had I hung up, than the phone rang. It was the precinct again.

"I said I'd give you everything when you got here. Quit nagging me!" I burst out in frustration.

"Detective Morelli?"

_Shit. _It was a voice I didn't recognize. "Uh—yeah. Morelli here. Who's this?"

The caller cleared his throat. "It's Officer Siedler—from the evidence room."

_Bucky's cousin. _"Pete, right?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. "That's right, sir—I mean Detective." _Good. _He'd remembered I didn't want to be called sir.

"What can I do for you, Pete?"

"Um—I just thought you should know I was cleaning up the evidence room this morning. In going through the items that came in from Mrs. Morelli's apartment on the Nagel murder, I came across the watch you were looking at the other day."

_So what?" _"Okay?"

"Did you know the clasp on it is extremely loose?"

_Again, so what? _"No, I didn't. Was there something you wanted me to be aware of regarding that?"

"No, that's all. I noticed it wasn't listed as such on the report submitted with the evidence, and I thought you should know."

_Huh? _"Well, thanks for that information, Pete. I'll be sure to add that to my notes."

He sounded relieved. "Okay. Good-bye—"

I disconnected before I could hear him call me sir again. _What the hell had that been about? _

Looking at the display, I noticed I'd missed twenty-seven calls that morning (twenty-six of which were probably from Rogers), along with fifteen e-mails and several texts. I scanned through the e-mails, noting that Frances Ling had submitted her report on the Myra Flowers' murder. Nothing was listed we hadn't already known at the scene. The partial prints hadn't been matchable, so we were just as much in the dark now as we'd been twenty-four hours ago.

There was so much to be done. I needed to contact the Columbus Police Department following Ranger's tip, as well as find time to start in on the paperwork for both the Nagel and Flowers murders. I need to check on Stephanie too. Before any of that, however, I needed to get through this mess here _and _convince Rogers—and probably Reynolds too—that there was more to the Nagel investigation than met the eye.

Letting out a weary sigh, I called Brian Chapman.

"Hey, Morelli," he greeted. "You find something?"

"More than enough drugs to stock your local Walgreens for a year—that is if they were into selling illegal narcotics."

"Walker and I had to attend a joint homicide and vice meeting, but we'll be back shortly."

"Yeah—about that. Plans have changed. When you come back, you might want to bring Reynolds along with you."

"Oh shit. What happened?"

"Rodriguez pointed out the obvious to me. This thing is huge, Brian. It's time for Newark to be officially involved, and for both chiefs to have a say in what's happening."

"But have you found anything to help exonerate your brother?"

"Nothing yet. Nothing regarding Stampler either."

"Christ, I don't know what to believe anymore, Joe. I _want _to believe you, but—"

"I know. Just bring your team and some extra flak jackets."

He laughed. "We're going to need them, aren't we."

"Oh yeah."

Disconnecting, I decided if I was going to have to face Rogers, I wanted to at least do it on a full stomach. In the kitchen, I grabbed a couple slices of pizza and walked outside into the chilly, November air, taking several deep breaths to clear my head.

I wanted to check on the garage where Walker had been working all morning, so I made my way around the side of the house and stepped inside the detached building. It was empty of people, but immediately my senses were overwhelmed by the familiar scents of my mother's own garage—the rubber from tires mixed with the noxious smell of motor oil.

Out of the blue, I was overcome by a wave of weariness. Sitting down hard on a group of tires sitting in a corner, I scanned the large structure filled with every kind of junk imaginable, along with enough drug-making paraphernalia to run a small pharmacy. I slowly took another bite of pizza and closed my eyes, trying to clear my mind for what was to come with Rogers.

And that's when I began to dream.


	12. Chapter 12

I do not own any of JE's characters.

So several of you liked the "twin-making totem pole" from last chapter. In the interest of full disclosure, I have to tell you that the suggestion came from my fabulous Beta reader Julie. She had quite the list of euphemisms. LOL! Thanks, dear girl, for once again providing me with terrific content Beta on this chapter.

And a huge thanks to all of you for continuing on the journey with me.

* * *

Chapter Twelve

**Joe's POV**

_My father stood there weaving, looking like one of those Fisher Price Weebles bobbling around. Slowly he took off his fancy watch and laid it on top of the magazine. Noticing me staring at it, he said, "You know what time it is, kid?"_

"_No sir," I whispered fearfully through my rapidly swelling lip._

"_It's time to teach you a long overdue lesson." _

_With painstaking deliberation, he removed his black belt inch by inch until it hung from his hand like a Cobra ready to strike. As he moved toward where I cowered against the tires, all I could think of was Sheee-it-ahhh!_

_He raised the belt—_

"_NO DADDY. NO SIR!"_

_CRACK!_

_The leather came down hard, making a sickening sound as it snapped against the bare skin of my arm._

"_AHHH!" I cried out. The hand holding my lip slid down to cover the rapidly reddening welt._

"_Damn it—hold still!" the monster from my nightmares commanded roughly, fighting against the natural weave of his body from too much liquor. "Pull your pants down, boy."_

"_No sir," I croaked, completely terrified. "Please don't, Dad. I didn't do nothin'. I promise!"_

_He reached out that ape-like arm and yanked me to my feet. _

"_No son of mine talks to me like that. You do as I tell you—the first time. You hear me?" He shook me so hard, my teeth rattled in my head. "I said pull down your goddamned pants!"_

_Foolishly, I shook my head, frantically looking around for a way to escape._

_He set the belt aside and grabbed the waistband of my blue jeans, wrenching them down to my knees, along with my Masters of the Universe underwear._

"_I'm sorry, Daddy." I was sniveling now and shaking so hard, it was a wonder he could still keep a grip on me. "Please, please, don't—I'm so sorry. I don't know what I did, but PLEASE don't hit me any more. I'll be good. I—I promise!"_

_The belt was back in his hand. The scary monster had turned it into a whip. Wasting no time, he shoved me face-first back into the pile of tires and let the belt fly against my backside._

_WHACK!_

_Screaming in pain and terror, I was mortified to feel wetness pooling between the rubber tires and me. Oh God!_

_CRACK!_

_Again, the leather creased my skin, the sting so strong I almost passed out right then and there. Slowly my mind and body began to disengage. It was as if I were floating on the ceiling and looking down on what was happening._

"_Please stop," I keened breathlessly, completely oblivious to the tears and snot running all over my face. "Don't you love me?"_

"_Did I ask you to talk!" he roared, shoving me against the stack of milk crates that held the magazine and his watch. _

_Everything went flying as I crashed, and I realized I'd landed on top of his watch. He kicked me aside, and I quickly huddled into a ball, watching in horror as he stared down at the mangled timepiece. If I'd had the strength, I'd have run while he bent down to retrieve it. He took one look at the destruction and kicked me again—this time in the ribs. I coughed hard, strangely fascinated by the blood pooled in my hand when I pulled it away. Once when Tony had suffered from a bad cold, he'd said he was coughing up a lung. Was that what I was doing?_

"_You've ruined it—you little shit!" my father bellowed. "Look at it! The face is smashed, and you've bent the clasp. It'll never be the same!" He was livid—his body shaking uncontrollably from either anger or alcohol. Probably both._

"_I paid damned good money for that watch, you stupid little fucker. I could kill you for this." _

_He reached out an unsteady hand and ran it through his dark wavy hair. Ma called it Morelli hair, 'cause all us kids had it. "You're an idiot. Your brothers have been protecting you like you're some fucking little prince. Well, today you'll see what it's like to take punishment like a man."_

_My stomach lurched._

_He had the whip in his hand again, ready to strike. Oh sheee-it-ahhh—if I didn't find a way to escape, he'd kill me. I knew it. I could barely move from where I was still curled on the floor. Turning my head slightly, I saw Tony's switchblade lying three feet to my side. Paulie and I were the only ones who knew he owned it, because Ma refused to allow any son of hers to carry a knife. Tony must've hidden it in one of the milk crates, and I'd knocked it loose in the fall._

_CRACK! Another strike from the belt._

_My body throbbed everywhere. It was so all consuming I could no longer even cry out. Carefully, my fingers inched, without thought, toward the knife. What would I do if I got to it? My father was solely focused on the torture he was inflicting in his drunken haze, and apparently hadn't seen my movement. _

_WHACK!_

_God—oh God—make it stop. Make HIM stop! Where was everyone? Why didn't someone help me?_

_Wrapping my fingers around the knife, I managed to pull it toward me in between licks from the belt. My butt was so raw; I no longer even felt the pain. My whole body had, in fact, gone numb, and yet I could still see myself looking down upon the scene—separate and intact._

_Turning away, my fingers fumbled while I tried to open the switchblade. Come on. Come on. Come on!_

_In an instant, my father's fireball eyes were so black, I was afraid he'd burn me with the intensity of his gaze._

_His voice was deadly cold. "What've you got there, boy."_

_Seeing the knife in my hand, he made a swipe for it._

"_Give it here, son."_

_Still turned away, I struggled to get it open. Oh please, Jesus—please let me open it in time, for there was no doubt in my mind, he'd kill me if he could. I'd never escape the monster._

"_Give. Me. The. Knife!" he ordered, grabbing a hold of my arm._

"_Help!" I managed to scream before the hand holding my arm slid upward to cover my mouth. His free arm wrapped around my neck and began to squeeze._

"_Drop it, Joseph."_

_SWISH!_

_The blade popped open. The flash of metal barely registered through the pain-induced fog of my brain._

"_Drop it, Joseph," he warned again threateningly._

_The arm around my neck tightened behind me, just as I managed to turn the knife around, so that it was pointing directly toward the monster._

"_Drop it!" he screamed in my ear._

_My arm thrust backward just as his squeezed tighter._

_The sound of a banshee cry rang out through the room. Was it MY voice? My father's?_

_And then there was nothing but darkness._

* * *

"Morelli!" The voice intruded into the black void of my subconscious.

"Jesus, Joe! Are you all right?" A second voice joined the first.

"I think he's asleep."

A hand pushed against my shoulder roughly.

"Detective Morelli, wake up!"

My eyes popped open to find Rodriguez and Davis hunkered down beside where I was balled over in a heap on the tires. Fearfully, I shot up and looked around me for the blood. _Where was the blood?_

My brain still hadn't fully registered where I was. Not until Rodriguez picked up the plate of pizza I'd evidently dropped when I'd been—

When I'd been what—sleeping, dreaming?

"What the fuck happened, Morelli?" Manny asked. His face was pale. "We heard someone yelling all the way in the house. The kid here had his gun out and ready to use on whomever was being attacked before it'd fully even registered it was _you _doing the yelling."

I couldn't answer. Hell, I couldn't even catch my breath yet.

Somehow Stumpy sensed I was in shock. "He needs water," he directed Rodriguez, who looked grateful for the opportunity to do something helpful.

He took off, leaving Davis to stare down at me with those damned puppy eyes.

"You were having some sort of flashback, weren't you," he stated assuredly, but without a hint of censure.

I looked away.

_How had he known?_

"It's okay," he declared steadily. "I understand. I was in Iraq four years ago. I've seen what terror can do to people, and I've seen plenty of strong men have flashbacks. Was this some kind of a military thing?"

I barely had time to shake my head in denial before Rodriguez returned with one of the bottles of water he'd ordered with the pizza.

"Here you go, Joe," he offered.

My throat was so parched I drank almost the whole bottle before I finally felt I could swallow normally.

"Thanks," I managed after another moment. "I'm okay now."

"Obviously you're _not_ okay," Rodriguez argued, running a trembling hand across his mouth. "My God, you scared us half to death. What the hell happened?"

"I'm not sure," I responded vaguely, avoiding Stumpy's assessing gaze. "I came out here to think before Rogers gets here. I guess I was more tired than I thought and fell asleep or something."

"Fell _asleep_?" Manny repeated doubtfully. "It sounded as though someone was trying to _kill_ you."

My stomach pitched at his word choice, and I knew I was going to be sick to my stomach.

"Excuse me." Pushing past Davis, I rushed outside and lost what little I'd eaten on the side of the garage.

It didn't take long for my two coworkers to find me leaning up against the side of the building, trying to catch my breath again.

"Are you sick?" Rodriguez pressed. "Do we need to get you back to Trenton?"

"No," I managed, closing my eyes.

_I needed to think. God, if only I could THINK for one damned second! _My brain felt as though it'd been completely short-circuited. All of the images from earlier were swirling together, and I had to use every bit of willpower I possessed not to throw up again as reality hit me.

My God.

_I'd killed my father._

"Morelli, I'm about to call Stephanie or else a damned ambulance if you don't tell me what the fuck is going on," Rodriguez said firmly. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

_Not a ghost. A monster._

"I'll be okay," I managed, forcing my eyes open. Davis was standing off to the side shaking his head. He knew I'd had a flashback.

And I wasn't sure how I felt about him knowing something so personal about me. I could only imagine what he'd think if he knew what it'd been about. His misplaced hero worship would be shot to hell for sure.

"I'm not sure what happened. Maybe the pizza didn't agree with me," I offered weakly, trying to make a poor joke. "Just let me wash my face, and I'll be okay. I need to get ready for Rogers and Reynolds. They should be here within the hour."

Pushing away from the side of the garage on rubbery legs, I quipped, "Anyone have a breath mint?"

Rodriguez pulled out a pack of gum from the pocket of his coat.

"I've never seen or heard anything like that yelling in my life, Morelli. It was like someone being attacked by a wild animal. Are you _sure _you're okay?" he asked skeptically.

"I'm fine," I said in a stronger voice, still avoiding Davis.

_Liar._

"I just need a few minutes to clear my head. I'll be in Nagel's office if you need me." I left them both standing there staring after me in concern.

Once in the office, I collapsed into the swivel chair Nagel had used and buried my fists in my hair.

_Oh fuck. Oh shit. Had I killed my father?_

It made perfect sense now. It had to have been me. No wonder my family had worked so hard to protect me all of these years and yet were so resentful of me at the same time. I'd murdered my own father.

What was I supposed to do now? Who should I tell? I wasn't even sure if I _wanted_ to tell anyone, although Cheryl Sullivan had directed me to contact her as soon as I'd remembered something. And I knew she'd want me to confide in Stephanie right away too.

Stephanie.

Jesus, what would _she_ think of me? Worse yet, how would she handle the news, given the difficulties she was already facing with her pregnancy? She'd always looked at me as some sort of protector and hero. How was I going to tell her she was married to someone capable of murder—that the father of her children had killed _his _father by his own hand? Morelli men were already known for being drunken abusers. Would she ever feel truly safe with me again?

Despite my fears, I wanted nothing more than to go home right then, bury myself in her arms and have her tell me it'd all been a crazy dream. And yet, I already knew it hadn't been.

I'd killed Rocco Morelli. Self-defense or not—I'd murdered my own father.

Dropping backward so that my head rested against the top of the chair, I allowed the anxiety to overtake me. What was I supposed to do? I wasn't even sure how I felt about what I'd remembered yet. Relief? Anger? Grief? Despair? Despite being a cop, my brain was no longer fully engaged, and I could barely function. How in the hell was I going to handle one of the most important meetings of my life in less than thirty minutes? Worse yet, would I even _have _a job after everyone learned about what I'd done to my father?

Reaching reluctantly for my cell, I scrolled through my contacts to where I'd put Cheryl Sullivan's cell number. My fingers hovered over the connect button, but then at the last minute, I pushed a well-worn speed dial button instead. Right or wrong, there was only _one_ person I wanted to talk to right then.

"You _so _owe me, Morelli," she promptly answered without even so much as a hello. "You'd better be calling to tell me you've bought me my own, brand new, fire-engine red Ducati after what I just endured at your mother's."

I cleared my throat over the unexpected lump of emotion at the base of it. Just hearing her voice affected me in innumerable ways. "Your own Duc, huh?"

We may not have been married long, but it took less than three seconds for her wifely intuition to kick in after hearing the tone of my voice.

"What's wrong?" she asked in a strained undertone. "Have you been hurt?"

"No. No," I hastened to assure her and wanted to kick myself. I had to remember she was married to a cop now. Every phone call was a potential tragedy. "I'm okay, Cupcake—at least physically."

"You've had another flashback, haven't you," she surmised instantly.

"Yeah."

"Omigod—what happened? Do you need me to call Cheryl Sullivan?"

"I don't know what to do," I confessed shakily. Feeling out-of-control like this was a completely foreign notion to me. "It was bad, Steph. I—I remembered."

"Remembered?" she repeated cautiously.

"Yeah—I remembered what happened in my mother's garage after you left that day."

"Okay," she gulped in my ear, bracing herself. "What was it?"

"I killed my father."

She gasped, and I thumped my forehead hard with the palm of my hand. I hadn't meant to just blurt it out like that, but my brain wasn't capable of self-censoring at the moment. The way I felt, I was lucky to be managing to string together words of more than one syllable."

"What do you mean you _killed _him?"

Swallowing hard, I continued, "I murdered him."

She was as pole-axed, as I'd been, for several heart-breaking moments, but then her naturally inquisitive nature kicked in. "What kind of nonsense is this? No you didn't."

"_Yeah_, I did."

"How?" she demanded almost sarcastically. She didn't believe me. Who could blame her? The reality was almost unfathomable.

"With Tony's switchblade. He wasn't supposed to own one and had it hidden in one of the milk crates in the garage."

"No way," she announced defiantly. The shock was wearing off a bit, and her voice sounded stronger. "I refuse to believe it. There's absolutely _no _way you'd have been capable of doing something like that. And if you did, for Christ's sake—you were eight years old. It was self-defense against a total and complete monster."

_The monster._

"But it's true. I remember." _Except—I really didn't remember ALL of it. Rather, just enough to know I'd killed the monster._

She took a deep breath and let it out. "Tell me the flashback from beginning to end."

"I can't right now. I have to prep for a meeting with Rogers and Bud Reynolds of the NPD. They'll be here in—"

"Joseph Morelli, there is _nothing _more important right now than you telling me what you remembered."

"Explain that to Rogers," I cracked. "I think he'd tell you otherwise."

She bowled right over me. "In fact, I think you should come home right now."

"Believe me when I tell you there is _nothing _I'd rather do than come home to you, but I can't."

"Then tell me what you remember—exactly."

"Steph—"

"You're wasting valuable time, detective," she scolded. She was purposefully trying to move me back into cop mode_. _

_God, I loved her._ How was it possible to love her even more than I already had that morning or yesterday or the day before? My heart literally ached from having to cause her additional stress with the pregnancy. I was supposed to be the strong one for _her _right now—not the other way around.

"Morelli—" she snapped impatiently.

The words came tumbling out before I could stop them. "After you left the garage that afternoon, my father whipped me with his belt."

_Silence._

"Oh Joe," came her soft breath, and despite my hardened exterior brought on by an abusive childhood and years of working homicide, I almost broke down at the idea of her aching for _me_.

_Get it together, Morelli. _"At one point, I fell on top of the milk crates that held the girlie magazine and my father's watch. I landed on top of the watch and broke it."

"The watch Paulie kept? The one you found beneath the bed in my old apartment?"

"Yeah. I broke the face of it and bent the clasp. Then—" I stopped abruptly as understanding dawned. "Holy Shit—the clasp."

"What about it?"

"_That's _what Siedler was trying to tell me."

"Why would Bucky be talking to you about your father's wristwatch?" Stephanie asked wonderingly.

"Not Bucky—Pete, his cousin."

"What?" She sounded even more confused.

"Pete Siedler is Bucky's second cousin. He's one of the new officers who took over in the evidence room after the Kennard Case. He was there the other day when I had a flashback looking at the watch and called a little while ago to let me know he'd examined it again this morning only to find the clasp on it was loose."

She immediately sensed where I was going with my train of thought. "The watch was never properly repaired after your father _died." _

Her word choice wasn't lost on me. It was clear she didn't believe my confession about my father. She refused to acknowledge the truth that I'd killed him.

"Which means," she continued briskly, "it could've slipped off Paul's wrist at _any _point, and _anyone _could've planted the watch beneath the bed."

"Anyone meaning whoever killed Nagel," I agreed.

"Would the watch be considered concrete or circumstantial evidence?"

She was so damned smart it scared me sometimes.

"It depends on who they're convicting. If it's anyone other than Paul, it's circumstantial. With Paul, it'd be concrete. But—" The first flicker of hope in days ignited in my belly, despite the revelation about my father's murder. "Many a case has been won on having _enough_ circumstantial evidence."

"Who would've had access to Paul's watch?"

"Meachum, any one of his gang, Stampler—hell—even Myra." Pinching the bridge of my nose, I added, "None of this is going to mean shit to Rogers—or anyone else for that matter. Paul's their only target. I need to concentrate on doing my job; otherwise, both Tony and him are going to be worse off than they already are."

I hated having a defeatist attitude, but, right then, it was all I could do to not to walk out the door and keep on going. I'd _killed _my father. My whole adult life had been spent trying to rise above the Morelli name—to make something of my life and to be someone my mother, grandmother and eventually Stephanie could be proud of. And now my efforts had been reduced to nothing.

Jesus, I _was _my father.

It took me a moment to realize Stephanie was talking in my ear.

"—And it was weird. She actually _told _me to keep searching for the truth."

"Who did?"

"Bella. Aren't you listening?"

"My _grandmother_ told you to search for the truth regarding my father?"

"_Yes—_that's what I've been telling you. Your mother refused to give me the scrapbooks—only the photo albums. As I was leaving, Bella stopped me outside and told me it was time for you to know the truth, and that I was the one to find it."

"Well, you can save your energy," I noted bitterly, wondering what the hell my grandmother was up to. "We _know _the truth."

"The hell we do. This just means Eddie and I have to work even harder."

"Eddie?" I repeated dazedly.

"You really haven't been listening to me, have you? I just told you I asked Eddie to look through the database at the precinct to find out exactly when your father died and to see if there was anything criminal associated with it, seeing as the whole world seems to refuse to tell me the date."

"Steph—"

"No! We're not giving up on what _really _happened in that garage, and _you're _not giving up on your brothers and finding out the truth."

One corner of my mouth lifted at her feistiness. I could only imagine what our children were going to be like.

_Our children._

God, the thought of them having to grow up with a father capable of murder made me feel sick to my stomach again.

"You need to talk with Dr. Hamilton," Stephanie said in a low, intense voice.

"Maybe—"

"No maybes about it. Call her."

"It'll have to be later. I'm already unprepared for Rogers. I've got to get my head on straight, or who knows what he'll do to me."

"Then _I'm _calling her, because this is serious. We both need help with knowing how to handle what's going on in your subconscious." She paused uncertainly. "Truth is—I'm scared."

My throat closed, and I could barely rasp out the words. "Of me?"

"Of course not! Don't think for one second I believe you murdered your father, because you didn't. I love you more than I did ten minutes ago when you called. _Nothing _can ever change that, Joe. Are you listening? I _love _you."

No question about it—my wife was amazing.

"I love you too," I returned huskily. "Thanks for standing by me."

"You stood by me in the darkest hours of last week, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but I'm afraid these hours are fast becoming even darker than those."

"Than I guess I'll have to be your light in the darkness," she said, reminding us both of what Bella had said to her last week in our home.

"You already are, Cupcake." Clearing my throat, I continued, "I've got to get ready for Rogers."

"Good luck. I wish you had time to tell me what's happening over there, but it'll have to keep until tonight, I guess. Oh! By the way, my mom wants us to have dinner with them. I told her you might not be able to join us."

"I'll try," I promised, but we both knew it was an empty promise. There was no way I'd be joining them. "Did Bucky call about your car?"

"Not yet. I was going to try and research your dad's death on the Internet, but I'm really tired right now. Maybe I'll take a nap first."

The guilt I felt was practically suffocating me. "Steph, promise me you won't sacrifice the health of you or the babies over any of this business with me, okay? I'd never forgive myself if—"

"Stop worrying," she said softly. "I'm fine."

"I can't _help_ but worry. Nothing's more important to me than you, Stephanie—absolutely nothing."

"And nothing's more important to us than you," she assured me. "Come home soon."

"As soon as I can."

Disconnecting, I stared at the piles of paperwork around me. Somewhere in there _might_ be the break I needed to exonerate Paul with Rogers. Steph was right. I couldn't give up, even though my brain was now fried from the discovery I'd made earlier about my father. Somehow I needed to find a way to put that business in the back of my mind—at least for the foreseeable future. My brothers were counting on me, and I'd do anything not to let my family down again.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

My hand shook as I hung up the phone.

_Joe killed his father?_

No, fucking way. And I wasn't saying that because he was my husband, and I loved him more than life itself. I said it because it was true. _Maybe _he'd tried to stab him. But at eight years old, I had my doubts he would've had the accuracy to hit him—let alone kill him.

_What in the hell was I supposed to do for him? _I felt completely helpless and ignorant. But one thing I knew in my gut—Joe was getting closer and closer to reaching his breaking point. And I needed guidance in knowing what to do for him.

I'd been in our home office using the computer when he'd called. Wishing I'd thought to ask for Cheryl Sullivan's cell number, I did a quick search on the Internet until I found her business line instead. It took several minutes on hold until the receptionist was able to put me through to the psychologist.

"Cheryl Sullivan," her warm voice greeted.

"Dr. Sullivan—this is Stephanie Morelli."

"Hello Stephanie." She didn't sound surprised in the least that I was calling. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright," I returned nervously. I'd never talked with a counselor before—not even after my disastrous marriage to the horse's ass. _Was she analyzing me already?_

"I have a feeling you're not calling about the paternity test."

"How'd you know?"

She laughed. "Because _no one _involved with that situation seems to want to talk about it." Her voice turned serious. "Is Joe okay?"

"Not really," I confessed. "He just called to tell me he's had another flashback—a big one."

"Did he remember what happened with his father?"

"Yes."

"Does he need to talk with me?"

"I believe so, but he's stuck in Newark right now on a case—"

"The Nagel investigation?"

"Um—yeah. He told you about that?"

"Yes," she answered simply. "Did he say when he'd be home?"

"There's no way of knowing."

She was silent for a moment. "Joe has my cell number, but let me give it to you as well." I copied the number down and then waited for her to speak again. "When you either know he's coming home or_ is_ home, call me. I'll come to your house to speak with him."

"A psychologist that makes house calls?" I was floored.

"Under extreme circumstances—yes. And I'm assuming this is something we should consider extreme, right?"

I hesitated, not entirely comfortable in sharing something so intimately personal with someone I'd only met once. "You promise everything we talk about is confidential?"

"Absolutely everything," she assured me.

Taking a deep breath, I said, "Joe thinks he was the one to kill his father."

"He told you that?" Dr. Sullivan was instantly alert.

"Yes. He—"

"Don't tell me anything more," she ordered kindly. "I'd rather here it directly from Joe. Call me as soon as you hear from him again."

"Alright—thank you Dr. Sullivan."

"It's Cheryl, and you're welcome."

Someone was pounding on the front door just as I finished, and Bob went berserk.

_Evidently, no one wants me to take a nap today. _I hustled down the steps and, after looking through a side window, gratefully opened it to Bucky Siedler, who had my car keys dangling from his fingertips.

"Missing these?" he asked teasingly.

"Yes," I acknowledged gratefully. "Thank you."

"Shit, Steph—you keep at this, and I'll be able to retire to Florida in another year or two. Your business is worth its weight in tires."

"Ha. Ha," I muttered. "You always were the witty one, Bucky."

He let out a manly snort. "Thanks for remembering. How the hell are you, _Mrs. Morelli_?"

"I'm good. Seriously, thanks for getting my vehicle back to me so quickly. Sorry about the tires."

"I'm not," he grinned. "I love how you're keeping me in business."

Grrr…I suppose I'd never get over being known as hell on cars. Too bad the reputation was true.

"How much do I owe you?"

He waved his hand. "No worries. I'll send Joe a bill here soon for both repair jobs I did on the thing. 'Course if I were you, I'd have 'Ms. Thing' take care of this last go-round."

"You heard," I stated the obvious, slightly embarrassed.

"Hell, Steph—the whole Burg's talking about how Terry Gilman called you a cow. You're not going to take that lying down, are you?"

_Sigh_. _Did I do anything else BUT lie down these days?_

"Don't you worry—when the time is right, I'll take care of it," I said cryptically.

He shrugged. "See you around then."

"Wait—do you need me to drive you back?"

"If you don't mind," he responded. "I was going to call one of my guys to come pick me up, but this would be way easier."

Sadly, my nap would have to wait.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Stumpy gave a single knock on the door to Nagel's home office.

"Feeling better?" he asked solicitously.

Looking up, I nodded. "Yeah. Is he here?"

"Just arrived. Reynolds pulled up behind him with Chapman, Walker _and _the Internal Affairs guy."

"Grady Schultz," I nodded and stood. "Okay—it's show time."

"Morelli, you and I both know I'm not needed out there. Why don't I stay here and continue the search."

"Good plan," I agreed and showed him where I'd left off in my efforts.

I was already out the door when I thought to poke my head back around the doorjamb.

"Thanks, Davis."

He eyed me closely. "You're sure you're okay?"

I decided honesty was about the only thing he'd believe at this point. "I'm still shook up, but it's personal. I'll be all right."

He looked doubtful, so I left before he could ask any more questions of me.

Out in the living area, I found everyone standing around and shaking heads at what Nagel had accumulated through the years. Thankfully during his investigation of the living area, Rodriguez had thought to make room at a large dining table. We all wasted no time in sitting down with Chief Bud Reynolds at one head and Acting Chief Brett Rogers at the other. I knew they'd been friends for years, but I had a bad feeling that friendship was about to be sorely tested today.

I'd heard over the years that Reynolds was an interesting character, and I could see the rumors were true. Originally from Houston, he looked more like a burly rancher than he did a cop. Piercing navy blue eyes offset a full head of gray hair and leathery skin. With cowboy boots and a Stetson, all he needed was a tin star on his jacket to complete the image of a true Texas Ranger.

Forcing myself to forget about my father, I reached a hand out to him. "Detective Joe Morelli. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I did a joint op with your homicide team a few years ago. You run an excellent organization."

He gave me a long look before gripping my hand. "Detective, I'd like to go on record by saying I know your reputation, and I know your recent history with the TPD. I'm damned glad you're here to talk with us today, son, given you were almost killed a few weeks ago."

Had it really only been five weeks ago since Dorsey and Kennard had tried to kill Steph and me? _God, it seemed like we'd lived a lifetime already._

"I appreciate _your_ support."

Guilt assuaged me at the subtle dig I'd let loose toward Rogers, but I kept my head up. My conscience was consoled by the fact he _hadn't _been too supportive of late. Avoiding his gaze, I took a seat next to Rodriguez. Together we made up one side of the table, while Brian, Al and Grady flanked the other.

"Brett, before we get started here, I want you to know that as far as I'm concerned, once Trenton gets its head out of its ass and finishes appointing a new city government, them boys and girls best be fixin' to give you the title of chief, 'cause you've surely earned it."

Rogers puffed up a bit. "Thank you, Bud. Your comments are certainly appreciated."

The NPD chief narrowed his gaze. "Having said that, I also think it's a pile of horse shit you didn't see fit to call me yourself when a man from my city was murdered in your jurisdiction."

Rogers' ego was immediately put back in check.

"You're right," he agreed reluctantly. "Once we knew Nagel was running a drug operation over here, I should've let you know what was going on."

He was practically grinding his teeth over having to eat crow with a professional colleague.

"Well, nothing goes over the devil's back that doesn't come under his belly," Reynolds drawled, shaking his head.

_Huh?_

He slapped the tabletop with his fist and gave me a penetrating look. "Let's get down to business, boys. So, why all the secrecy over the warrant, son? Why didn't you have your chief come to me directly rather than using one of my men to sneak it out underneath my nose?"

There were many approaches I could've taken with my answer, but I chose honesty.

"The fear of political reprise," I announced, still avoiding my boss' stare. "There are a number of factors at play here."

"None of which I seem to be aware of," he noted dryly.

"True. And it's way past time you knew what's been going on."

"Well, I'm all ears, detective, because so far I don't like how this donkey smells."

"The warrant was a legitimate request," I began. "You know, it's SOP to investigate the home of a murder victim."

"A murder that was discovered nine days ago, detective. Why the hell are you boys just now getting around to searching the place?"

"There were mitigating circumstances."

He slashed his hand through the air. "Alright, let's cut the watermelon talk now, shall we?"

_Watermelon talk_?

He eyed me knowingly. "Talk that fills you up, but doesn't do squat to solve anything. Come on—just spit out the seeds."

I looked across the table at Chapman, Walker and Schultz, who were all trying not to laugh. Evidently, they were used to their boss' bizarre way of assessing things.

_Fine. _He wanted straight talk. I'd give him straight talk.

"Sir, did you at any point in time give permission to Detective Brian Stampler from your Vice Squad to investigate Louie Nagel's drug operation?"

Reynolds sat back and slowly took off his Stetson, setting it on the table before him. "You want to run that by me again?"

"It's a straightforward question, and I'd appreciate a straightforward answer."

"Joe—" Roger's finally managed to get my attention and gave me a warning glare. "Don't go down that road—"

"What road would that be?" Reynolds shook his head. "Ya'll are making no sense. But to answer the question, the answer is 'no'. I did _not_ give Detective Stampler permission to investigate Nagel."

"But he asked for it, right?" I pressed.

"Yes—he's come to me privately several times over the past two years, sharing his suspicions regarding the place, but he's never had enough evidence to warrant a full investigation or a raid on the house."

A frown appeared on his face. "What does this have to do with Brian? The boy's been on vacation all week."

"Sir, the reason I didn't come to you directly for the warrant is out of concern that your department may have been running a covert operation, under the direction of Stampler, in our jurisdiction_. Because_—" I rushed to add when Reynolds opened his mouth, "Nagel is directly linked to a large drug operation in Trenton run by Jason Meachum."

"I read about that Meachum bust a couple of weeks ago," Reynolds acknowledged with no expression on his face, but then he lifted one bushy eyebrow. "If I'm not mistaken, a Morelli was arrested among the group. Any relation?"

My face flushed. "My brother."

He looked at Rogers and lifted _both_ eyebrows in surprise right before jerking his head in my direction. "And you're letting him run the investigation?"

"It's a long story," Rogers returned. "Technically he's not investigating the Meachum bust—only Nagel's murder. It wasn't until later we discovered the two are intermingled. Just so you know, we had another murder yesterday. Meachum's long-term girlfriend, Myra Flowers, was also killed."

"How do you know the two organizations are related?" he asked suspiciously.

"We have documentation outlining both operations," Rogers admitted. "We have more than enough evidence to show the link between the two, as well as to Stryker and the whole Kennard nightmare Trenton's so desperately trying to dig out of."

The frown grew deeper. "And you think I sent one of my boys in to try and bring down the whole thing—without getting your permission or including you in my plans?"

"I've told Detective Morelli you run a clean operation, Bud. He has personal reasons—"

"Just what might those personal reasons be?" Reynolds demanded, glowering at me. "'Cause I reckon I don't take too kindly to my integrity being questioned this way." His scowl extended to include his detectives as well. "And I _really _don't take kindly to my own men not trusting me with the truth of what they've been up to the past two days."

"It's not a question of them not trusting you," I jumped in, unwilling to have my Newark colleagues in hot water because of me. "I told them I didn't want you or Rogers to know until I had more proof."

"Proof of _what, _boy? Speak up now—'cause you still ain't makin' a damn lick of sense."

"Morelli has another sibling involved in all this," Rogers butt in again. "His brother Paul was Meachum's right hand man and the primary go-between Meachum and Nagel. Joe is trying to manipulate a situation in a drastic attempt to save his brother—"

"I believe my brother," I shot back.

Reynolds scratched his head. "Alright stop—ya'll are fixin' to drive me stonewall crazy right about now." He pointed a finger at me. "You—detective—I want to hear the _entire _story from beginning to end. Work related—personal business—I don't give a shit, 'cause right now listening to the two of you is like wiping your ass on a wagon wheel. The same ole crap just keeps comin' round."

Clearly, Chief Reynolds was one no-nonsense, tough guy. No wonder Chapman, Walker and Schultz were adamant that their boss was on the up-and-up.

"I don't think—" Rogers tried to regain control.

"You owe me this, Brett," Reynolds cut in, sending a hard look down the table at his counterpart from Trenton.

Rogers grew sullen, but thankfully remained silent.

Taking a deep breath, I shifted in my seat so that my back was to Rogers and began the lengthy tale (again!). Methodically, using the cop speak so permanently imbedded in my soul, I started with the unearthing of Nagel's body in Steph's apartment, the discovery of the suitcase, Paul's affair with Jessie Stampler, his visit and revelation to me about being blackmailed into becoming a Narc for Newark, Tony's involvement, the raid on Meachum's house, the realization that Myra was a Narc for Trenton, the arrival of Bulldog on the scene, the murder of Myra Flowers, the break-in at Stampler's house, the discovery of his OCD and the suspicion that Jessie might be hiding out in Trenton somewhere.

When I'd finally finished, I sat back in exhaustion. Reynolds shook his head sympathetically. "Son, you've been busier than a one-legged man in a butt kickin' contest, haven't you?"

I couldn't help but grin. "Yes, sir, I have."

But just as quickly my smile dimmed.

_And that was just my professional life._ No doubt he wouldn't want to hear about the paternity test and the realization I'd murdered my father. _Don't think about it, Morelli!_

"I've been fortunate to have the assistance the past few days from two outstanding detectives under my watch, along with three of your best," I agreed, grateful for the good men by my side.

"Well you got yourself an interesting tale to be sure, although I can't say I'm too pleased my men didn't inform me of their intentions sooner." Reynolds noted, and then looked down the table at Rogers. "Brett, your opinion?"

Fuck—now I'd have to listen to Rogers shoot everything I'd said straight to hell.

He was silent for so long, I was ready to scream in frustration. Eventually, he said in a tone completely void of emotion. "Listening to Morelli go through everything again has reminded me of why he's considered one of the best cops on my force."

_Wait—what?_

"I've been so focused on trying to navigate political waters myself lately that I haven't been as eager to want to complicate what at first seemed like a slam dunk for Trenton."

"But—" Reynolds motioned with his hand.

Rogers wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. "Morelli, you're a good cop—and honest as the day is long. There've been multiple opportunities in the past two weeks when you could've hidden important information. And truth is, had I been more supportive of you, I'm certain you would've told me about your activities over the past two days sooner as well."

I held my breath, hoping like hell he was going to tell me he wanted to pursue Paul's story further.

"But the fact remains you have no solid proof. Yes, Stampler has a form of OCD that should never have allowed him to be a cop—"

"Which I'll immediately be looking into how the hell he fell through the cracks like that," Reynolds noted angrily.

Rogers continued, "I know he had a file with 'Morelli' on it in his home office, and yes, you found a train ticket from Newark in your brother's house. But _all _of it is circumstantial, Joe. You have _nothing_ solid to prove your theory. In the meantime, we have hard, concrete evidence that Paul was involved in this up to his eyeballs. Do you see the position I'm in here?"

"Your boss is right, son," Reynolds nodded regretfully. "You can put your boots in the oven, but that don't make 'em biscuits."

The others had been silent throughout my exchange with both chiefs, but now Rodriguez obviously felt he'd kept quiet long enough.

"What about the fact we have proof Jessie has been doing drugs for almost three years now. We have witnesses saying she was hooked up with Nagel. We know she stole money last week from her employers and has disappeared. Doesn't that show motive for Stampler wanting to go after Nagel—"

"Especially if he came to you, chief, and was turned down repeatedly for wanting to do a sanctioned investigation," Al Walker added intently.

"Not to mention the fact his profile clearly shows a propensity for the need to have order and justice," Grady Schultz added his two cents.

Brian Chapman sat there thoughtfully for quite awhile. Looking at his boss, he commented, "Chief, I've been ragging on Morelli since he told me this whole thing Monday night. I've been pissed to think he was accusing one of our own of being a rogue cop. I've given him my assistance out of courtesy for the cop I've always known him to be, but inside I've been thinking he was crossing a line out of loyalty to his family."

Reynolds rolled his eyes. "I sense a 'but' there, detective."

"_But _after having worked alongside this group for two days, I have to tell you the fact that there's so much evidence pointed toward Morelli's brother and _none_ toward Stampler is making me leery. It's almost _too good _of a case—very much like what it would look like if Paul were being blackmailed. Everything Joe's brother has said easily matches up with what we've seen—minus the evidence."

"So he's either absolutely telling the truth, or he's a hell of a good liar—maybe even both," Rogers broke in. He looked at me. "Explain the watch to me again. We have Paul watch underneath the bed where Nagel was murdered. How much more damning can you get?"

"I've been thinking about that," I mused carefully. "Officer Siedler told me the clasp on the watch was bent, and I know from childhood that's an accurate statement, as it's been that way for twenty-seven years."

_You killed your father, Joe._

The thought came out of the depths of my subconscious, and my heart started to race. _Had I said that out loud? _Quickly looking around the table, I realized I hadn't. _Thank God. _Now was _not _the time to get sucked into the past again.

"Paul claimed he met with Stampler the night of the raid at Meachum's house at a truck stop midway between Newark and Trenton," I continued. "The watch could've easily slipped off during that meeting, and Stampler picked it up. He may not even have had the intention of framing Paul initially, but perhaps he felt he had no choice after Nagel. He could've slipped it under the bed."

"Are you suggesting Brian Stampler murdered Louie Nagel, boy?" Reynolds leaned forward authoritatively. "Because that's a fucking bold statement."

"It's possible though, right? He could've gotten frustrated with the fact you refused him multiple times to investigate Nagel. Maybe he decided to pursue justice on his own. I doubt his original intention was to use Paul, but after finding out about his affair with Jessie _and _the fact he used to be buddies with Meachum in high school, it might've been too good of an opportunity to pass up."

Rodriguez picked up my theory. "But then everything went south because our department was conducting its own investigation. Stampler knew he couldn't get the bust, so he bailed on Paul. When Paul lost his watch, Stampler pocketed it."

"How do you figure Stampler killed Nagel?" Rogers asked. He had his hands in a steeple over his nose, thinking.

Manny replied, "My guess is Nagel got a call from Meachum telling him about the bust. By then, he would've confronted Paul's wife Adrienne. If she told him about the suitcase, Meachum would've warned Nagel there was evidence out there about both their organizations."

"Meachum learned my wife Stephanie had the suitcase," I picked up on the tag team. "He could've told Nagel, who decided to go and search her apartment. Perhaps Stampler was tailing Nagel and followed them there. He could've confronted Nagel, and in a crime of passion killed him."

"With a heroin overdose?" Rogers asked skeptically. "Where would he have gotten the drug?"

_Silence._

After exchanging glances with Rodriguez, I shook my head and dropped my voice. "I don't know."

Reynolds assessed his own detectives. "Well, don't just sit there looking like a tree full of owls. What do ya'll think?"

Grady Schultz was the first to speak, "Given his profile, I think Stampler could easily have snapped and sought his own justice."

Walker added, "I have to agree. The fact that this was a personal issue for him, given his sister's involvement with drugs, is too much to overlook in my mind."

"If you only had some solid evidence, I'd be willing to consider it," Rogers admitted grudgingly.

"I agree. What you're sayin' sounds good, but your case is weaker than a popcorn fart," Reynolds confirmed.

"I think I may have what you need," Stumpy's voice came assuredly from behind us.

We all turned to see the young detective holding a book in his hand.

"What is it, Davis?" Rogers demanded, reaching out his hand.

"I found it buried beneath a stack on the floor beneath Nagel's desk," Darryl announced quietly, but I could see the excitement in his eyes. "It's a daily journal. Paul's name is in here repeatedly.

_Shit!_

"But—I've also found both Stampler's and Jessie's names in here as well." Handing the book to Rogers, he said, "I've marked several pages of interest."

_Oh God. _

_Please be something. _

_PLEASE!_

I needed _something _to keep me going, or I was about to break from stress.

Rogers began to thumb through the pages. Moments later, Reynolds moved around to look over his shoulder.

Not me—I was too busy praying.

Reynolds pointed to an entry, "Here it shows where he came and hassled Nagel about giving drugs to his sister. That was two years ago."

They flipped to another section. "Here's another where he threatened Nagel to stop or he'd bring in the NPD."

"Still another where he vowed to bring him down."

_YES! Oh fuck yes! Thank you, God. _

My eyes were closed, but I felt Rodriguez slap me on the back. It was by no means a lock, but God, it was something—finally!

"Morelli."

Opening my eyes, I looked down at Rogers. "Yes, sir."

"It's a start," he said simply.

"Yes it is, sir." I shot Stumpy an appreciative grin and then extended it to the entire table. "Thanks to the efforts of some excellent cops."

"Don't get cocky. There's still _way _more evidence pointing to Paul, but this at least doesn't make you look crazy."

"Understood."

"Well, where the hell are we goin' from here? I'm so mad right now, my butt's about ready to grind corn," Reynolds barked, moving away from the table to pace.

"We need to find Paul," Rogers announced.

_Well—duh! What the fuck did he think I'd been trying to do the past two weeks?_

"Morelli, I know you have a private team searching for your brothers, but we need to step up our efforts as well," he emphasized.

"I'm all for it, as long as you're not going to toss him to the wolves—namely Parks Johnson," I quipped, sneering out the DA's name.

"It seems as though the action is all in Trenton, boys," Reynolds observed. "There's not much my team can do there. What do you say we take over cleaning out this place and assembling the evidence?"

"That would be great, sir," I accepted gratefully. "There are enough drugs here—"

"You know that's interesting," Rogers broke in thoughtfully.

"What is?"

"All the drugs you've found here. When we did the raid on Meachum's house, there were a lot of drugs, but nowhere near what Rodriguez told me you've uncovered at this location. It makes me wonder—have we missed something in Trenton?"

"There are a million questions that are still unanswered," I agreed. "Like who killed Myra Flowers?"

"It could've been Paul," Rogers cautioned.

_God, couldn't he let it rest for one fucking minute? Jesus!_

"Yes, it could have," I responded patiently. "We also need to find Stampler, find Jessie, find Meachum and his gang _and _figure out what the hell Bruce Jackson has to do with all this. There's more than meets the eye with him. He's become a one-man brigade against my brothers. Why?" Which reminded me, I needed to contact Columbus and find out what the police there knew about him.

"Don't worry about the mules, just load the cattle," Reynolds advised.

_Whatever the hell that meant. _The guy was funny, but I was beginning to think he was one brick shy of a load.

Turning toward Rogers, the chief added, "Even though we're talkin' about one of my men having gone rogue, I'm leavin' all this in your hands, Brett."

At Roger's surprised look, he continued, "It's your jurisdiction. You need to oversee it." He then lowered his voice and looked at him pointedly. "Just don't let the political bullshit keep you from doing the right thing."

Rogers gave a single, determined nod.

"This thing's bigger'n Dallas, boys. We need to wrap it up right quick before we all look like fools." He gave us all one more sweeping gaze. "I think we'll head on back to prepare our course of attack. We'll leave you gentlemen to plan yours as well. Brett, let's keep in constant communication."

"Absolutely," Rogers promised.

I followed their entourage to the door, shaking hands with everyone, but saving Keith Chapman for last.

Thumping him on the back, I said, "Thanks for everything. I owe you man."

"It makes me sad to think I could've been wrong about one of my police brothers," Keith shook his head. "But I'm glad you have at least a glimmer of hope, Joe. You deserve it."

Grady Schultz reached around Chapman to hand me a manila folder. At my questioning look, he said, "It's Stampler's personnel file. I promised you a copy."

"Right—thanks."

They closed the door, and I turned back to find Rogers waiting for me. Rodriguez and Davis had conveniently disappeared.

"I hope you're not expecting me to apologize," he said sardonically.

I smiled. "Only if you're not expecting one from me either."

"You have to understand this isn't a lock."

"Believe me—it's understood."

"Alright. Then let's talk about what's next."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

After dropping off Bucky at his shop, I headed over to Shop Rite and dragged my way through the aisles, completely clueless as to what I was doing. My idea of shopping was running through the 7-11 and grabbing whatever could fit inside the little hand baskets they had over there. When Joe and I had gone grocery shopping a week ago Sunday, I'd been so distraught over finding out I was pregnant and the fight we'd had at my apartment, I'd paid absolutely zero attention to what he'd purchased.

And now all I could think about was the hell he was more than likely enduring both from his flashback earlier as well as his confrontation with Rogers.

I managed to purchase enough to lug six bags of groceries into the house. By the time I was finished unpacking them, it was almost six o'clock. I'd yet to have a nap, and suddenly I was so tired I thought I'd fall into a heap right there on the floor of our kitchen if given the chance. There was no way I'd be able to handle dinner with my parents.

Dreading the censure I knew I was about to receive from my mother, I grabbed my cell and managed to make my way into the living area to plop down onto the couch.

"Where are you?" she questioned by way of greeting. "I'm about to put the vegetables on the table."

"I can't make it," I announced, having to concentrate to get the words out.

_I was SO tired. _

"Are you sick?"

"No—just exhausted."

She surprised me then. "Oh honey, I'm sorry. Is Joseph with you?"

"Huh-uh—he's still in Newark."

She sniffed. "He should be home with his pregnant wife. Honestly—those Morelli's—"

"Mom, you've got to stop with the Morelli cracks," I scolded. "You seem to have forgotten _I'm _a Morelli now."

"I haven't forgotten," she snapped. "And Joseph's a good man—much to my surprise. Still—he should be home." She turned away from the phone and yelled, "It'll be on the table in a minute, Frank. I'm talking to your daughter. No—not Val—Stephanie!"

Into the receiver, she continued, "_Honestly_, how many years have we been married, and he thinks I don't know what time he wants his dinner served? Now where was I? Oh! Does Joe's absence have something to do with his brothers again? Because I'm about sick to death of wondering what other trouble those two are going to cause that poor family."

I heard the word family, and it was as if a lightening bolt struck my weary brain. _Of course! _I was overlooking the greatest source of Burg gossip history in the form of my very own mother.

"Mom, I know you have to go, so I'll make this fast. Do you remember when Joe's father died?"

"Rocco?" she sounded surprised. "That man was one mean son of a—"

"Mom! Do you remember?"

"Oh Stephanie, that's been years! How am I supposed to remember—?"

"Because I know you, and you don't forget _anything_. What did I wear to the first day of kindergarten?"

"That darling plaid skirt and blue sweater set your Aunt Marion sent, as well as a yellow beach towel pinned around your neck. You said you were planning to jump off the roof of the school at recess."

Allowing myself a hasty eye roll, I continued, "When did Rocco die?"

"Just a minute, Frank!" she screamed in my ear. Somehow I didn't think she'd meant to do that. "Oh dear, I can't think under pressure like this. Wait—no—no—I remember now. It was the year you were six. It was September, because I remember school had just started a few weeks earlier. It was a Saturday, but—oh—I can't remember the date." She was getting more flustered by the minute as the clock crept closer to six o'clock. "Why the sudden interest?"

"Just curious. Do you remember _how _he died?"

"He had a heart attack. You should've seen the emergency vehicles and cop cars around the place that day. That garage was lit up like a Christmas tree. Of course it was all made worse by the fact Joe had fallen out of a tree and had to go into the hospital."

_What!_

"What tree?"

I heard my father yelling in the background.

"I have to go," she announced breathlessly.

"Wait!"

"I _have _to go," she reiterated, completely flustered.

_Damn it. _I'd have to talk with her tomorrow when she'd calmed down. "Thanks, Mom. You've already helped more than you can possible imagine."

"Well good," she sounded pleased with herself. "Get some rest. Do you have something to eat?"

"Yeah, I went to Shop Rite run this afternoon. I'll be fine."

"_You _went to Shop Rite?" She sounded as if she was going to cry from joy. "I don't believe it. My baby's growing up!"

_Yeesh._

"Thanks for the information, Mom. Sorry about dinner."

"Another night," she promised. Before she hung up, I heard her scream, "Alright, I'm _coming, _Frank—"

No sooner had she disconnected than I was punching Eddie's number.

"Gazzara," he said tiredly into my ear.

"Eddie—I have a month for you."

"Thank God, because Shirley's calling me every ten minutes wanting to know why I'm not home yet. I'm supposed to take the oldest to soccer practice at seven."

"Check September," I instructed. I was surprised at how quickly my fatigue was disappearing in light of possibly have more information to give Joe when he got home.

I could hear Eddie fiddling with his computer. After several agonizing minutes, he said, "There's nothing here for September. Are you sure of the month?"

"Positive. My source is golden."

He sighed. "Alright. I'll have to go down to the archives in the basement then. I'll call you back in a few minutes."

While I waited for his call, I pulled out a Stauffer's lasagna from the freezer. My mother-in-law would be mortified I was about to serve her precious prince a packaged—and frozen no less—meal, but tough shit. It was the best I could do, and I was praying like mad I didn't burn what I had to work with either.

I'd just finished putting the tray in the oven, when my cell rang. _Eddie_.

"What'd you find?"

"I'm not sure," he responded slowly. His voice sounded funny—rather uncertain.

"What do you mean? Did you find a case file?"

"I did."

"And?" _Jesus, he was about to kill me with curiosity._

"And it's sealed."

"Sealed?" I repeated doubtfully. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that by order of the Chief of Trenton in 1985, this file was commanded to remain sealed forever."

"That's bad, isn't it," I said in a low voice. "It means something must have happened, right?"

"Yeah," he agreed. "Something bad."


	13. Chapter 13

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Continued thanks to everyone for the kind and supportive reviews. I appreciate any and all feedback.

Whew! My fabulous Beta reader Julie (I love to call her that!) saved me big time this chapter. Thanks tons, my friend.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

**Joe's POV**

It was ten minutes after seven, and I was sitting in our driveway on Slater, staring at the well-lit and homey warmth of our house with bleary eyes. Twelve hours of nonstop work and stress had taken its toll.

For the past ten minutes I'd been trying to work up the courage to go inside, but every time I thought about having to face Stephanie, knowing what I'd done to my father, made me want to roll down the window of my truck and puke. When we'd talked earlier, she'd said she loved me more than ever, and that she hadn't believed my flashback was accurate. Still the idea of no longer being the man she thought she'd married was more than unsettling.

_God, I was tired—both mentally and physically drained._

Finally dragging myself out of the Avalanche, I made my way to the door and heard Bob's out-of-control excitement, signaling my arrival.

"Hey boy," I greeted with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Shutting the door firmly behind me, the move was almost symbolic of my need to shut out the 'real world' for a little while.

If only I could shut out the thoughts in my head as easily.

Immediately my nose was met with the smell of something Italian baking in the oven. My stomach growled in appreciation despite being a torn up mess inside. The little I'd eaten at lunch had come back up on me, and breakfast had been more than twelve hours ago.

_Twelve fucking hours. Jesus, what a day._

Tossing my truck keys and some work files on the counter, I slipped off my shoes and shrugged out of my leather jacket, all the while wondering where Stephanie was. The SUV had been out front when I'd arrived home, which had been a surprise. She'd told me she was having dinner with her parents. Why the change of plans? I hoped it wasn't because she was feeling sick again.

"Where's Steph, boy?" I glanced toward the stairs and raised my voice. "Steph?"

Kneeling down, I gave Bob some well-deserved affection while I waited. He'd been such a faithful friend over the past couple of years. The squeak of Rex's old wheel reminded me we had a new addition to the household as well—RJ. Closing my eyes, I allowed the sounds and smells of home to soften the edges of my frazzled brain.

_Home._

It felt unbelievably good to be in the home Stephanie and I were creating together. Knowing she was around there somewhere—and would be every day for the rest of our lives together—made finding a way to get through the shock and pain of my childhood memories worth walking through hell for.

She'd probably fallen asleep upstairs. Deciding to quickly put the rest of the dinner together, I was shocked when I opened the fridge and found it well stocked, including the makings for a tossed salad. _Stephanie Morelli had gone to a real grocery store by herself? _The notion she'd done something so abhorrent out of love for me was mind-blowing—and oddly erotic too.

Suddenly having dinner a little late didn't sound like all that bad of an idea.

"Hey," the woman of my dreams spoke softly from the entrance to the kitchen, eyeing me speculatively. She was wearing a pair of grey sweats and a v-necked, red t-shirt—hardly Victoria Secret. But the affect on me was equally as potent.

Walking over, she wrapped her arms around me. "Mmmm…I'm glad you're home."

"I'm glad to _be _home," I responded. Nuzzling against her ear, I breathed in the strawberry scent of her shampoo, and felt my pulse begin to stir.

"You want a beer?"

Without warning, I stiffened.

"_Make yourself useful and get me a beer, boy—now."_

_Shit!_ _Why were all of these horrible memories of my childhood slipping out all the goddamned time now?_ Trying to hold them at bay was like trying to stop a leaky faucet with a finger and having the water pour out around your finger anyway.

Smiling grimly, I said, "No thanks. I think I'll be passing on alcohol for awhile."

There was no fucking way I was doing anything remotely similar to my father's ways—at least not until I could come to grips with what I'd done as a child.

Stephanie knew exactly why I'd said no. Choosing not to push my refusal, however, she simply slipped out of my arms and asked calmly, "Then how about some dinner instead?" She grimaced. "Dr. Sullivan is planning on coming over later, so we should probably eat."

Somehow she'd instinctively recognized my need to feel normal. Even if was something as mundane as discussing dinner; it felt good to be doing with Stephanie.

Inhaling deeply, I observed, "It smells good, but I thought you were planning to eat with your parents."

She shrugged. "Change of plans. I wanted to be with you instead. Plus I wanted to be here when Dr. Sullivan gets here."

"Plan on calling her Cheryl. She's pretty laid back." Watching her search through drawers for an oven mitt, I asked, "What are we having anyway? It really does smell great, Cupcake."

She made a face, teasing, "I wouldn't get too excited. It's only Stouffer's lasagna."

The corners of my mouth tipped up in a slight smile, and I leaned against the counter to watch her. "Sounds good. I see you went to Shop Rite."

"I'm a regular domestic goddess," she concurred, lifting an eyebrow scornfully. "But don't get any ideas, Morelli. I didn't touch the laundry, and there's a boat load of it waiting to go downstairs."

What was it about this woman that made me believe I could do anything—be anything—overcome anything? Despite the hell I'd been through already and the more I suspected was to come, an overwhelming desire to be with her invaded every part of my body.

Moving closer, my eyes took on a familiar glint. "That seems like more than a fair trade. In fact, I'm thinking the shirt you're wearing right now is looking downright filthy. You should probably take it off, so I can wash it."

Her initial reaction was surprise. I'm sure she'd expected me to want to retreat and lick my wounds after what she'd heard me confess mere hours ago. With anyone else, it _would_ have been damned appealing too, but with Stephanie—the idea of burying myself in her love for me was way more intoxicating—even if it were only for a few moments.

She glanced down at her long-sleeved, perfectly clean t-shirt. "Now?" she questioned doubtfully. "But dinner's ready, and Cheryl's coming—"

Running the tips of my fingers down the side of her face, I smiled at how the gesture caused a shiver to run through her system. "You're so beautiful, Steph, and I'm not hungry right now—at least not for dinner."

She blushed, closing her eyes, and the innocent beauty of it had the fly of my blue jeans tightening in response.

"Are you sure?" she murmured. "Joe, you're in shock, and—"

"Shhh…" My finger traced the curve of her lower lip. "I need to feel normal for just a minute, and normal for me is wanting you all the time."

"But dinner—"

I reached over and turned off the oven. "It'll keep."

Replacing my finger with my tongue, I traced the same path along the soft skin of her lip before covering her mouth in a gentle kiss. Immediately her arms wound around my neck to pull me closer. Her single, contented sigh was enough to make my jeans grow even tighter.

She pulled back slightly and observed my aroused predicament with a sly smile. "Think you're going to be able to get those jeans down over the 'muscle of love'?"

I winced just as she'd known I would.

"Muscle of love?" I repeated, making sure she noticed the eye roll.

She started giggling, and I shook my head in mock censure. "Exactly what kind of smut did you read in high school anyway, Cupcake?"

"Enough to know your body's a keeper," she retorted. Sliding one hand down between us, she rubbed gently. "Maybe your 'delusions of grandeur' weren't so delusional after all. Of course—the smart thing for me to do would be to take a look and find out for myself."

"Be my guest, but only if I get the same privilege," I invited wolfishly, pulling her t-shirt up and over her head.

I couldn't help but smile. New bras were definitely in her near future, as she was downright spilling out of the one she had on. My eyes softened with desire, and I felt some of the tension that'd been gripping me of late momentarily ease.

My eyes held hers captive while one index finger reached out to tantalize a bra strap down her shoulder. At the same time, her fingers worked with practiced efficiency to undo my jeans. Slowly she pulled them down along with my briefs.

"_Pull your pants down, boy. Today you'll see what it's like to take punishment like a man."_

The memory slipped out against my will, and I flinched reflexively.

"Joe?"

Determined not to allow my father to ruin this desperately needed moment with my wife, I squeezed my eyes shut to block the painful recall.

_Don't think about it. _

With renewed purpose, I unfastened the front clasp of her bra, allowing the fullness of her breasts to overflow into my grateful hands. Once more my mouth found hers, this time using my tongue to gain entrance and deepen the kiss. Without breaking contact, I shed the rest of my clothing. Somehow I managed to get her shirt and her sweats off as well—never once halting the kiss. She wasted no time in wrapping her fingers around me, stoking my desire exponentially.

_When had sharing such intimacy with her become as essential to me as breathing? _

"Feels so good, Steph."

"Unnnhh," she responded incoherently, her head dropped back in pleasure as my fingers made their way between the sensitive folds at the juncture of her thighs.

Our mutual control was disappearing quickly. She felt so damned good, and my body evidently had developed a mind of its own.

"Let's go upstairs," I urged, leaning down to flick my tongue over one of her nipples.

"Too far," she gasped and shifted slightly to allow my fingers and mouth greater access.

Her hands were everywhere, stroking, massaging—driving me on. Part of me wanted to slow down and make it last for both of us, simply because I selfishly didn't want to face reality again. But the greater part was hungry for my mate—the only person who could truly fulfill me in every way. I touched her more assertively, sensing she was fast hurtling toward the edge.

"_I saw that girl fixin' her skirt. Were you two looking at this magazine? Were you touching each other?"_

_Goddamn it! _Instinctively I started to pull away, and Stephanie moaned a protest.

"No—don't stop," she begged, stroking me even harder.

Shit, I was torn. She felt so good, but I didn't want _anything _between us except for love.

Determinedly, she led us backward until we were pressed up against the wall. Grabbing hold of my hand, she ground against my fingers, assertively letting me know what she wanted.

"Joe—"

Once more my mouth found her breast, and, slipping a nipple inside, I began to suck gently. At the same time, my fingers moved in a steady rhythm. Her hands, which had tried to touch me in return, fell limply against the wall as our desire became too powerful. Mere seconds later, I watched the first orgasm pummel sharply through her, causing her to cry out in beautiful surrender.

I was hard as a rock, and yet still I tried to pull away.

Without saying a word, Stephanie sensed my reluctance. Determined to slay my demons with love, she once more took me into her hand and guided me slowly—inch by incredible inch—until I was fully sheathed inside of her.

"No, Steph—" I managed to get out through gritted teeth. "I shouldn't—"

"Oh _yes_—you should," she tossed back recklessly, wrapping one leg around my hip and staring steadily into my eyes. "You should make me come again and again, because I love you so much. You have no idea how good you feel right now."

"Not half has good as you," I breathed unsteadily.

Just hearing her pledge her love again was enough to galvanize me into motion, setting a pace that had us both groaning in pleasure.

"Love me, Joe,"

"More than my own life," I vowed fervently, beginning to move faster.

Words were no longer necessary as we sought completion. Knowing we were connected so intimately, with our unborn children protected between us, chased away the last of my guilt and doubt, leaving me free to focus solely on sharing every sensation with her.

The pace continued to escalate with Stephanie crying out twice more before I lost the last bit of control I had, and love poured out between us.

Her mouth was everywhere, placing tiny kisses all over my chest, neck and face. "I love you," she whispered. "Oh God, I love you so much."

My hand was holding onto the wall for support, while I tried to regain my strength. "Me too," I gasped, the last traces of pleasure still wreaking havoc with my system.

We both slowly began to come down from the sexual high, and, with it, my brain was once more flooded with memories and recriminations. Unfortunately, guilt now piled on top of it all. How could I have made love to Stephanie in the midst of such heinous flashbacks?

"I can hear your conscience working overtime. Stop it," Steph mumbled against my chest. She was still breathing hard as well.

"Huh?" My brain was so damned foggy; how could she hear anything?

"You're thinking you did something wrong," she scolded. Pulling back slightly, she looked up at me and frowned. "And it's a lie. I wanted this as much—if not more—than you did, so stop beating yourself up."

Self-recrimination kept me from hearing her. I opened my mouth to apologize, when there was a knock at the front door. Bob went out of his mind with excitement, while Stephanie and I looked at one another and our state of undress in wide-eyed embarrassment.

"Who the hell is it?" I wondered, scrounging on the floor for my jeans, while tossing Steph's t-shirt at her.

"Oh God—it must be Cheryl Sullivan," she stage-whispered, shoving the shirt over head. She quickly noticed it was on inside out and growled in frustration before yanking it off again. "She's early!"

"What!"

"I texted her as soon as I heard you walk in the door, and she said she'd come later. Obviously our ideas of what 'later' means are entirely different. This is all your fault!" She slapped at my arm, while waving her t-shirt in her other hand.

"_My _fault. What the hell did I do?"

"If you weren't so goddamned sexy, this wouldn't have happened," she complained irrationally. Finally getting her t-shirt on straight, it was only to realize, she'd forgotten her bra. "Aargh!" she exclaimed and started all over again.

I was hopping around trying to get my other foot into the jeans when the second knock came.

"Just a minute!" I called out loudly, hastily throwing on my shirt and only getting half the buttons right.

"She's going to know we've had sex!" Stephanie panicked. "Why else wouldn't we have answered the door right away." She fluffed at her hair—as if that were going to make one bit of difference. Her whole face had "well and truly fucked by my husband" tattooed all over it.

Running a hand through my own hair, I gave her a wry grin. "It's _your _fault for being so goddamned appealing, Cupcake. You need to grow a wart on your nose or have smelly armpits or something." I pulled on my last sock and shook my head ruefully. "Of course even _that_ probably wouldn't stop me where you're concerned." Giving her once last look-over, I said, "Your shirt's on inside out again."

"What? Aargh!" She gave me a distraught look. "Get in there and stall her while I fix my shirt. Go!"

Heading into the entryway, I opened the door to the psychologist. "Hey," I greeted uncomfortably.

Jesus, I'd only met this woman for the first time last Friday—at a _paternity test_ no less. One counseling session and now here she was visiting me in my home.

The whole thing was too weird.

"Joe," she returned cheerfully. She was wearing blue jeans and a navy blue Air Force sweatshirt with her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Bob pushed his way past me to greet his new potential friend.

"Ooo! Who's this beautiful thing?" Cheryl laughed, as the dog practically bowled her over.

"That's Bob."

"Hi Bob. What a great name."

Looking beyond me, she teased Stephanie, who'd walked into the foyer to see what was happening. "_Mrs. Morelli_, it's good to see you too. Sorry if I've interrupted something." She gave us both a little wink, and I swear I could feel my face flaming in embarrassment. Clearly, she knew we'd been having sex prior to her arrival.

I didn't dare look at Steph. Her face was likely beet red.

Burg manners, ingrained since childhood, had me stepping back to allow her further inside the house. "Uh—we were—"

"Just about to have dinner," Stephanie rushed in to save us both. "Would you care to join us? It's not much, but it's hot."

Cheryl sniffed appreciatively. "Don't underestimate the appeal of Stouffer's lasagna."

"You have a good nose," Steph quipped embarrassedly.

"Not really. I just smell it frequently. Living alone, frozen dinners are my best friend and favorite eating companion." She smiled. "If you're sure it's not an inconvenience, I'd love to join you. I had a bagel when I got home from work, but this smells way too good to pass up."

Stephanie and I finally dared to look at one another now that the initial embarrassment had worn off, and Cheryl hadn't given any further indication she'd known what we'd been doing prior to her arrival. I put my palms up behind Cheryl's back. What else could we do but share our meal with her?

We all trooped into the kitchen where Steph went about putting dishes on the table, while I assembled a tossed salad and sliced some of the French bread she'd purchased at the grocery store. RJ was busy in his cage, and Cheryl enjoyed watching him play as we finished getting things together. Within minutes, the three of us were seated awkwardly around the small table. At least, Stephanie and I were feeling uncomfortable. Cheryl seemed to be taking the whole thing in stride.

"If you don't mind, I have a rule about not discussing business while I eat," she announced. "How about we save the tough stuff for after we've all given our bodies a chance to refuel."

_Works for me. _I wasn't even sure I wanted to talk period. I'd really been enjoying the normalcy that being with Steph had offered before the interruption. I would've been just fine staying in denial the rest of the night—but I supposed it was unrealistic to think my subconscious would allow me the continued reprieve after the revelations I'd had about my father.

Steph and I exchanged another glance—this one filled with anxiety as we each looked to the other to find a safe topic of conversation with a woman we barely knew. It was almost as if we had some kind of mental telepathy-thing going.

_Talk about something._

_What? Why me? She's here for YOU. I don't even know the woman._

_But you ARE a woman. Think of something!_

_I CAN'T! Quit pressuring me._

_Steph—HELP!_

My wife rolled her eyes at me and opened her mouth, clearly floundering for something to say. Cheryl saved us both.

"This is delicious—thanks, Stephanie. Do you like to cook?"

I'd just taken a bite of French bread and began to choke at the idea. Now Steph was _glaring_ at me. Great. I'd be lucky if I wasn't sleeping in the guest room. I needed to get my act together—and fast.

"Neither one of us is much into cooking," I offered, my voice still sounding hoarse from the bread stuck in it. Taking a big swallow of water, I continued, "Truthfully, we've always been too busy with our jobs to think much about it."

_There_. A small smile began to play about Stephanie's lips. I'd like to think Cheryl had been oblivious to this whole domestic display, but I highly doubted it. The woman was awfully smart.

"That's right—you're a bounty hunter," she beamed at Stephanie. "I bet you have some really amazing stories to tell."

Before I could stop myself, I snorted out a laugh. _Get it together, Morelli! _The stress was clearly coming out in all forms of release, because I could think of no other reason why I seemed so intent on tempting Stephanie's ire.

"I _did _have an interesting career in bonds enforcement," Steph addressed Cheryl, but not before kicking my ankle underneath the table. "And yes, it was often dangerous, but it was often boring too."

"Are you going to remain a bounty hunter after the baby comes?"

_Oh my God. _

It hit me that I hadn't even shared with the psychologist at our meeting yesterday the fact we were having twins. We'd been too focused on my flashbacks and family situation. Not even when we'd talked about Ranger had I informed her of what was happening with my expanding family.

Stephanie made another face at me surreptitiously before answering. "Actually, we're having two babies, and I'm not sure exactly what I'll be doing yet."

"Two!" Cheryl exclaimed, her eyes widening excitedly. "Holy Cow! Congratulations! I missed all that the other day at Dr. Hamilton's office."

Despite the fears associated with my father, I couldn't stop the puffed up pride nor the grin that always overcame me every time someone new heard we were having not one—but two children. Steph caught both the pride and the grin and rolled her eyes at me _again,_ but then gave me that sexy smile of hers as well.

Okay, now _that _was more like it—_definitely_ time for the good doctor to go home. I wanted to go back to forgetting reality and focus on round two with my wife and her sexy smile—hell, her sexy everything.

But it wasn't to be. Cheryl got to gabbing with Steph about bounty hunting and babies, and before I knew it the two of them were like long-lost sisters or something. Under different circumstances, I would've been happy to see Stephanie find a new friend, but there was something about this situation that was just plain _weird._

Soon the meal was finished, and the anxiety I'd been fighting all afternoon began to creep back into my mind.

Cheryl thanked us both for dinner and then asked, "Stephanie, do you mind if Joe and speak privately for a few minutes?"

Steph looked momentarily startled but recovered quickly. "Uh—no—of course not. I'll just—"

"She doesn't need to go anywhere," I cut in firmly. "I want her with me."

Cheryl nodded, seemingly unfazed. "No problem."

"Let's go into the living area," Stephanie suggested nervously. I couldn't blame her for feeling antsy. I was about ready to crawl out of my skin with all of the emotions skittering through my system.

Letting out a small sigh, I led the way. Cheryl took the side chair, and Steph and I settled next to one another on the couch. Instinctively, I reached for her hand and was infinitely grateful when she squeezed my fingers in support.

"I'm thinking we shouldn't dance around one another, huh?" Cheryl suggested bluntly. "Let's just face it straight on. I understand you remembered something powerful about your father today."

_Your father_.

Two words—and I was thrust back to the horror of twenty-seven years ago. Without warning, I began to sweat, and the meal I'd just eaten threatened to come back up again. _Now I knew how poor Stephanie had been feeling the past couple of weeks._

Cheryl observed me closely. "Joe—"

"I killed him." I broke in abruptly. "That's what I couldn't remember. I killed him with my brother Tony's switchblade."

"Tell me," she instructed calmly. "All of it."

For the next several minutes, I walked through the nightmare again, describing in detail all that I'd remembered. Cheryl remained passive throughout the telling. Stephanie, on the other hand, began to tremble at my side. At first I thought it was from fear, and my heart broke. But stealing a glance at her out of the corner of my eye, I saw she was crying silently and realized it was out of love and compassion for me.

At that point, what was left of my heart simply shattered. _How_ could she still love me?

"How can you still love me?" _Shit, had I actually said the words out loud? How embarrassing._

She looked appalled.

"How can you even think I wouldn't?" she tossed back defiantly. "You were _eight _fucking years old, Joe. It has nothing to do with the man you are today. Of course I still love you. Besides, I don't believe you killed him."

"But I _did_. I stabbed him with the knife. I know I did."

"Do you?" Cheryl questioned quietly, one eyebrow raised. "Because that's not what I heard just now. I heard you say you thrust the knife backward, but I didn't hear you say you struck him."

I faltered briefly. _Had I? _I could see everything about the moment clearly in my mind—so vivid it was almost as though it were in Technicolor—and yet I couldn't remember the actual impact.

"I _had _to have struck him," I mused. "It's the only thing that makes sense. How else would he have died?"

Stephanie broke in. "I don't know, but I _did_ find out something odd this afternoon."

My mind was still trying to remember if I'd struck my father with the knife or not. It was Cheryl who finally asked, "What's that, Stephanie?"

"Well, firstly, I can't believe how stupid I've been."

_Huh? _My ears finally clued in to her voice. Stephanie was many things, but stupid was _not _one of them.

"It hit me after I talked with Eddie."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, completely perplexed.

"Yesterday, after visiting Cheryl, you told me you thought something bad had happened the day we played 'Choo Choo' in your mother's garage, right?"

"Yeah?" _What was she getting at?_

"And what did you tell me was special about that day we played the game."

"I don't know. I said a lot of things—wait—" My brain finally cleared. "I said it had been Paul's eighteenth birthday."

"Exactly. Here I spent the day trying to find out the day your father died from your mother when all I had to do was ask _you_ the date of your brother's birthday."

"September 10," I breathed.

She nodded, still frustrated with herself. "Had I thought to make the connection sooner, it would've made my wild goose chase this afternoon a hell of a lot easier."

"I'm sorry," I offered.

She immediately cut me off. "Don't be. I'm upset with myself. Your brain has more taxing it than _anyone_ should be expected to handle. What's my excuse—pregnancy hormones? For God's sake, I should be picking up on this kind of stuff."

"I think you _both _need to cut yourselves some slack," Cheryl interjected smoothly. "Stephanie, who is Eddie and what did you discuss?"

"He's a cop with the TPD and a friend of ours," Stephanie explained agitatedly. "I asked him to run a search today to see if he could find a police report on the day Joe's father died."

"And?" Cheryl nudged.

"He found a file in the archives of the precinct for September 10, 1985."

For some reason, I found myself holding my breath. "What did it say?"

Stephanie made a face. "We don't know. The file was ordered sealed by the chief of police. It hasn't been opened in twenty-seven years."

_What?_

"You're kidding."

"Dead serious."

"Why didn't you tell me right away?"

"He just called a little while ago."

"Why didn't you tell me when I got home?"

She looked at me as though I were crazy. "Because we were a little _busy."_

_Oh. _

_Right. _We'd both been too distracted by an amazing sexual encounter to think about anything but one another.

"I find this rather interesting, Joe. Don't you?" the Cheryl stated in a relaxed manner.

She shifted in the chair to tuck her legs up underneath her. Bob came over and put his head in her lap, and she began to pet him absently. It was all a little too comfortable for _my _comfort.

"Not really," I shrugged. "It was more than likely sealed because I was a minor and therefore not able to be prosecuted."

Cheryl inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Perhaps. Or is it possible something entirely different happened than what you believe?"

"I don't see how—" I began.

She held up her hand. "But wouldn't it be worth finding out for certain? What if that file indicates something else happened?"

I hated the sliver of hope that winged through my head, and I purposefully shoved it out of my mind. It was pointless to wallow in wishful thinking. The truth was I'd murdered my father.

"If the file is sealed, there's no way to break it."

"_No_ way?" Cheryl challenged. "I find that hard to believe. There are _always _ways to get around red tape. I imagine the current chief of police would be able to—"

"Rogers?" I scoffed, snorting loudly. "I'm lucky he hasn't fired me yet for insubordination. His head is solely locked up in finding my brothers and becoming the permanent chief of police. There's no way he'd open that file."

_Yes, but he did offer his grudging support today, didn't he?_

"You don't know that," Stephanie challenged, warming to the idea. "What happened at your meeting this afternoon?"

I went ahead and told them about what had transpired in Newark that day beyond the revelation I'd had about my father's death.

"This is good," Steph said aloud, although she was deep in thought. "In fact, it's fantastic. You actually have some legitimate proof Paul was telling the truth about Stampler."

"It's just _one_ thing, Cupcake—"

"_One_ thing you didn't have before, Morelli."

"Okay, we're veering off track here, and I want to remain focused," Cheryl spoke up. "The flashback you had today _is_ huge, Joe, but in my professional opinion, this isn't 'the dramatic moment' we've been waiting for."

"Jesus, how much more drama do you want?" I exploded in frustration. Stress and fatigue had obliterated my self-control. "Me murdering my father wasn't good enough?"

She ignored the sarcasm and continued, "If it were the end of the story, you would have no problem recollecting everything—and I mean _everything._ This is just the beginning."

Tipping my head back against the top of the couch, I closed my eyes. "I'm not certain how much more I can take. This shit is fucking draining me. I can't concentrate like I should, and God knows I _need _to be able to concentrate. I can't afford to make any more mistakes on this investigation. Too many people are counting on me."

"I understand," Cheryl replied gently. "I really do, Joe. But believe me—I'd stake my professional career on the fact that there's more to this story. I still believe the whole truth will come out when you least expect it. Some tiny little moment will trigger the final revelation, and what's left weighing on your subconscious will come spilling out all at once."

"Why is that?" Stephanie wondered worriedly. "Is that healthy?"

"Very often when a young person undergoes a huge trauma, the brain does what the child cannot do for itself. It goes into protective mode and locks away the horror of the experience. People can live for _years_ not remembering anything. But then one tiny little moment can unlock the door to the mind."

Cheryl gave me a sympathetic look. "It's a lot like a water faucet gone bad."

_Holy hell—did she have ESP now too? Hadn't I just thought that same analogy minutes ago?_

"At first it's like tiny leaks—little drips of water coming out of the brain," Cheryl continued. "As more memories come out, the brain begins to relax, causing them to come out faster and harder."

I tried to ignore the creepy feeling she'd brought on by reading my mind.

"You mentioned hypnosis yesterday," I broached carefully, not looking at Stephanie. I didn't want her to think I was weak for even asking the question. "Do you think I should consider it?"

Cheryl pondered the question for several agonizing moments before answering, "Actually, no—at least not right now. Things are moving so quickly as it is—both with your memories and with your investigation. I truly believe it won't be much longer."

She pushed Bob aside slightly and sat far enough forward to place a reassuring hand on my knee. "You're going to remember everything soon, Joe. And I'll be here to walk you through it all once you have the truth."

"I will too," Stephanie pledged without a hint of envy in her voice toward Cheryl.

"But I already _have _the truth," I shot back stubbornly. "I _killed _my father."

"Perhaps you did," Cheryl agreed, and my gut clenched despite the fact it was what I already believed. Hearing someone agree with me for the first time was painful. "And if so, I'll be here to help you. It won't be the end of your world—"

"Yes, it _will. _My job, my wife, my family—"

"Will _all _still be there for you," she said sharply, making sure to look me in the eye. "You're not thinking rationally right now, because your brain is stuck in the past—thinking that somehow you did something so horrible no one would be able to love or forgive you."

"How could they?" I asked derisively. "It was murder."

"Self-defense." Stephanie immediately shot back forcefully.

"Perhaps neither," Cheryl added her two cents in her no-nonsense tone of voice. "That's the point. We don't know all of the facts yet. But let me assure you, Detective, should the truth be that you killed your father, I will help you to see you're still the same person you were before you made this realization today."

"And if there's more to the story than we know now?" Steph asked hopefully.

"Then we'll deal with that too," Cheryl agreed firmly. She got to her feet and stretched lazily—more like a friend than a professional counselor. "For now, I think we all need some rest. You have my numbers. Call me as soon as you know more."

"Thank you, Cheryl," Stephanie said gratefully, and I was appreciative she'd been the one to speak, because I wasn't feeling all that grateful right about then. In fact, I was feeling downright pissed.

I was angry with myself for not being able to remember; angry with Cheryl Sullivan for telling me it was all going to be okay (how the fuck could it?); angry about the stress I was under at work; angry with my mother and the rest of my family for not having told me all of this shit earlier; angry with Tony and Paul for bringing their mess into my new life with Stephanie and angry that _any and all _of this had taken me mentally away from the joy of our new life together. How many _years _had I waited for this woman to be my wife? And now I couldn't even enjoy it.

Yeah, I was angry—more like fucking about to explode.

Cheryl observed me without censure. She was reading my mind again, which made me even angrier. "This undoubtedly sucks, Joe. It's probably the most difficult thing you've ever had to face in your life—even more so than the paternity test, in my opinion. All I can do is to keep providing assurance that you _will _get through all of this—not only intact but stronger than ever."

"She's right, Joe," Steph said softly. "The babies and I will _always _be here for you—no matter what. I swear it."

I gave a short nod, wanting to believe her desperately and yet still fighting my own inner doubts.

Cheryl smiled. "Hang in there. Lean on one another as much as possible. I don't know either of you very well, but from what I've seen so far, the love you share will help you overcome this nightmare and come through it even more united than you already were."

She picked up her purse. "Thanks for dinner. It was great visiting with you both." Patting Bob's head, she added, "My new boyfriend here will see me out. Good night."

Neither Stephanie nor I said a word until we heard the door shut, and then she stepped into my arms.

"I like her," she announced quietly.

"She's good," I agreed begrudgingly. I was still feeling angry with her, but only because she was part of my anger as a whole.

"Let's clean up tomorrow. We're both exhausted, and I don't want to waste another minute of my time alone with you doing dishes."

I felt my rage and annoyance slowly starting to ebb. "Steph—"

"In the morning," she insisted. "Everything else we need to discuss can wait until morning."

"I should try to get an update from Manoso, and I still haven't contacted Columbus about Bulldog—"

"Tomorrow," she insisted softly but decisively. "Let's take Bob out and go upstairs. Please Joe? I just want to hold you."

My throat was husky again. _How could she love me so much? _"That sounds good."

We both knew it would be a miracle if I slept a wink that night.

Once again, Steph read my mind and promised, "We'll hold each other _all _night, and tomorrow we'll start again."

_Tomorrow._

"Tomorrow," I agreed, my voice unsteady.

I tried to smile but only managed a grimace.

My gut was too busy telling me there was something even worse coming tomorrow.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

Looking out over the City of Trenton, bathed in early November moonlight, I thought longingly of my bed behind me, wishing for what felt like the millionth time I could fall asleep. Even the glass of scotch I'd rewarded myself with after a full day with Lula hadn't stemmed the manic pace of my thinking the past few days. Between Rangeman and this deal with Morelli, I felt like a Gumby doll. My body was being stretched in way too many different directions.

The warehouse Lula and I had checked out that afternoon had me puzzled. From our limited viewpoint, the place had looked deserted. There'd only been a few windows, but inside everything had been cleaned out. Why in the hell had Bulldog been skulking around the place?

Lula and I seemed to have reached a tentative truce in our working relationship. Upon our return to Rangeman, both Tank and I had spent the rest of the day in the gym with her working on self-defense maneuvers. Unkind as it may sound, what she'd lacked in skill, she'd made up for in sheer size and strength. There'd been one time she'd pinned me to the floor by simply sitting on me.

I'll be damned if my ribs still didn't hurt.

But despite the insanity of my schedule and the demands upon my time, there was something deeper happening within me. And _that's _what had me up and sleepless. Something elusive was gnawing at my brain constantly, dancing in the fringes but never coming center stage.

_What was it?_

Tank would say I was still grieving the loss of Stephanie to Morelli—and in some sense that was true. I missed her. Even though the two of us had never been an official 'couple', the time I'd allowed myself to enjoy with her in Hawaii had opened my heart to the possibility of love again.

Of relationship.

Of permanency.

Of intimacy.

If I were honest about my feelings, I'd admit I was lonely.

_Jesus! _What a joke. Hadn't I spent the better part of my adult life trying to build protection around myself and, in a sense, my heart? Yes, I'd been in love once before Stephanie—back during my years overseas. But even then, I'd never allowed myself the opportunity to desire a home or a sense of permanence. Until Stephanie, I'd never felt the _need_ for anything more than what I'd always considered to be the normalcy of my life.

Jesus, even _with _Stephanie I'd never given any indication I'd wanted anything more than the encounters we'd had. It hadn't been until Hawaii that I'd given any _thought_ to the possibility of having more in my life. Unfortunately, right when I'd allowed myself the chance to think of it, the door had been slammed shut by her decision to marry Morelli. Worse yet, the door had been locked once I'd learned the babies she was carrying weren't mine.

As much as it grated having to admit it, seeing them together was proof she was happy with her decision. She had no regrets, while I was left with a mountain of them.

And then there were those crazy dreams I'd had about Cheryl Sullivan. _What the hell had those been about?_

_She _was another reason I couldn't sleep—not because of any heartfelt feelings toward her, but because every time I dreamed of her, it caused me to feel guilty. It was as though I were somehow being disloyal to Stephanie, which of course was ridiculous. She'd made her choice, and I was free to do as I pleased—with anyone.

I hadn't heard from Stephanie all day. What_ had she done on her own? Was she feeling okay? Was Morelli treating her all right? _Those were the questions that plagued me even though I already knew the answers. She _was_ happy; she felt as good as could be expected, and Morelli would give his life for her—as would I.

Scrubbing my face with my hands, I realized more than ever I needed to get to Miami as soon as possible. Not only to take care of business, but to provide both Stephanie and myself with some separation for a while. I think we _both _wanted to maintain our friendship, but right now it was just too damned raw. I needed to get back to who I was before I'd allowed her into my heart.

I needed to stop those fucking crazy dreams.

I needed to stop thinking about what might have been and lose this notion taking over my brain that I _wanted _anything more than what I'd already built for myself. I had to be thankful for what I _did _have and surround myself with those who understood my emotional limitations brought on by the dangerous life I led.

Yeah, I needed to stop those fucking crazy dreams—the ones with Cheryl Sullivan, but more importantly, the ones where I saw myself as needing more than what I already had.

_Screw the loneliness!_

I needed to remember who Carlos Manoso was.

If only my heart were as intelligent as my brain.


	14. Chapter 14

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Happy Friday again, peeps! Hope this chapter will give you something to read over the weekend ahead. May whatever you have lined up to do include some fun in the sun. Summer is waning, my friends...

Thanks to the really super feedback from the last chapter, particularly to those I couldn't thank in person. Also, my fabulous Beta reader Julie (I love calling her that!) was once again instrumental in much of this. Thank you tons, my dear friend.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

**Steph's POV**

"I'm telling you they don't fit."

"They fit yesterday, didn't they?"

"Yeah, but they don't today."

"Let me see."

Holding up my shirt, I showed Joe the waistband of my blue jeans and the obvious gap where the button couldn't latch. _How the hell had that happened? _Overnight my belly had bloated up like I'd had about thirty glasses of water too many to drink. Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration.

Twenty-eight glasses.

My eyes narrowed considerably while the wolfish grin on Joe's face widened exponentially.

He stared at my stomach and smirked. "I _thought_ your belly felt different last night and this morning. _Very_ sexy."

"Don't start," I grumbled, trying to rein in my emotions. The last thing we needed was Mt. Stephanie to explode. "This totally sucks. I'm not even twelve weeks yet—not until Monday."

"I'm the only one who can see a difference, and it's miniscule at best, Steph. You look gorgeous."

"I _can't _button my pants, Morelli. What part of this tragedy do you not understand?"

He twirled me around to examine every inch of my body.

"You can't tell a thing," he insisted. "They fit you fine everywhere but in the waistband. Just use a piece of string or something to keep it closed."

My eyebrows shot up. _A piece of string!_

I gave him the glare that never seemed to work on him. _"_Do I look like my name is Ellie May? Why not just give me a straw hat to wear with my bare feet as well?" Pulling my shirt up even further, I stared in the mirror and continued the assessment. "And look at my boobs!"

"Believe me, I look at your boobs as much as humanly possible, Cupcake."

The man clearly had a death wish that morning.

Poking at my breasts, I growled, "I look like I'm advertising 'desperate and ditzy' the way these puppies are bulging out of my bra."

"But you've always _wanted _a bigger chest."

"Bigger—yes, but not freakish. Look at them. They're swelling up like water balloons!"

My voice hitched on that last word, and the first whisper of panic hit Joe as he realized I was truly upset.

Trying to remain calm, he offered, "Then go get some new ones."

"Because I'm too tired," I whined, sounding like a two-year old. "I'm _always _tired."

Yanking my shirt back down, I flopped down on the bed, and the tears I'd been holding at bay started to roll. _What the hell was wrong with me? _It was almost eight o'clock in the morning, and Joe was late for work, having been waylaid by the 'water balloons' when the alarm had gone off at six thirty. I'd been more than a willing participant then, but now I felt tired and swollen and incredibly hormonal. Perhaps the stress of the past week was beginning to hit me as well. Either that or I was overdue for a pregnancy meltdown.

I caught Joe peeking surreptitiously at the bedside clock and cried even harder. "I—I'm sorrrrry. I know you—you're late."

Sitting down on the bed next to me, he began to rub my back, looking chagrined and anxious. "No, I'm sorry. It's okay, Stephanie. I meant it when I said nothing is more important to me than you and the babies."

_Sniff. _"I—I know. But I want to be _helping _you right now—not hindering. You need to go."

"You're not _hindering_ me," he insisted. "And I'll get there when I get there. It's not like I haven't been putting in enough hours lately—"

"And you have so much on your mind," I rolled right over him, continuing to weep. "I _hate _cry—crying like this. I want to be tough and strong and _not _so friggin' tired all the time."

"It sucks," he agreed. "I wish I could be here to help you more—"

"No! You have too much going on already. That's the whole point. I want to help _you_—not be stuck on the sidelines like some—some third-string loser." That last thought brought on another round of sobs.

Joe was completely unnerved by now, still rubbing my back uselessly and whispering how much he loved our children and me. He hated feeling helpless when I cried.

_Damn it! Why couldn't I stop_? He did _not _need this additional stress right now. Last night, after Cheryl Sullivan had left, we'd done exactly as we'd planned and had spent the night in bed wrapped in one another's arms. For the most part, I'd slept, but I had a strong suspicion Joe had stayed awake for most of the night. While he hadn't said anything, I had the feeling he was almost afraid to go to sleep—worried he might have more flashbacks in the night and disturb me.

In the midst of all the shit in his life, he was desperately trying to cling to the good in it—namely this pregnancy and me. And here I was, selfishly allowing hormones to bring us both down further.

"Oh no!" My eyes suddenly flew open, as an all too familiar sensation hit the back of my throat.

Joe leapt from the bed and grabbed the wastebasket, barely reaching me in time. Like an idiot, I'd literally cried myself sick.

After the bout subsided, Joe helped to clean up the mess and me before assisting me back into bed.

"I'm sorry," I sniveled, both ashamed and perturbed with my earlier actions. "I swear I'm happy about the babies. It's just—"

Joe shook his head. "It's okay, Steph. Your body isn't your own right now, and that's scary. I get it."

Unfortunately, he did get it. Only it wasn't his body that was not his own these days—it was his mind.

I _really_ needed to suck it up.

"I'm all right. You can go now."

He ran a hand over my hair and kissed my forehead. "Not this time—at least not until I know you're doing a little better. Tell me what you need right this minute, and I'll make it happen. Name it—anything."

Tears were leaking out again. _Stop it! _"Can—can you just hold me for a minute?"

Without a word, he slid up the bed and took me into his arms.

"You need a day off," he said after several moments of silence.

I let out a short laugh of disgust. "Is that the pot calling the kettle black or what?"

"No, seriously," Joe insisted. "No matter how much we both hate it, the truth is your body's going through a lot right now. Add the mental stress of worrying about me isn't good for you—"

"And _you're_ not worried about _me_?" I argued. "How do you think that makes me feel, knowing you already have so much on your mind, and you're having to deal with me too?"

"Yes, I have a lot of stress, but I don't have the additional strain of having two babies depending on me either. As hard as it is, Cupcake, taking care of them has to be your number one concern right now."

"You'r_e _my number one concern," I emphasized, and then stopped short. "Well, actually you _all _are."

"I know," Joe spoke softly near my temple. "I feel it, and I love you for it. But if you _really _want to help me, the best thing you could do would be to call Mary Lou and go do something fun. Go buy some new bras or jeans or get a pedicure or—I don't know—_something._"

"Buying new bras is not fun, Morelli. It's second only to bathing suit shopping as pure hell."

He slid his hand beneath my shirt, caressing the soft skin where my jeans were slightly gapped and then moved upward to cup my breast through the bra.

"But just think of the fun you could have modeling your purchases for me later," he teased, running a finger along the lacy edge. The action sent an electrical current straight to my doodah.

"I want to _help_ you," I insisted breathlessly. Not only were these stupid hormones making me whiney; they made me stubborn too. No wait—I'd always been stubborn. Damn it, I couldn't blame that on anything but me.

Letting out a sigh, he shifted so he could look into my eyes. "Can we compromise?"

"I don't know. What's your offer?"

"I'll leave something that you can do for me, but you have to promise you won't do it until _after _you've gone out with Mary Lou."

"What is it?"

"Grady Schultz, Newark's IA guy, gave me Stampler's personnel file yesterday. I haven't had time to go through it, and, truthfully, I really don't want to take the time right now. I have too many other balls to juggle today."

"That's it? Just look at a file?"

"Hey, don't knock it. There might be something important in there."

"Wouldn't Schultz have caught it himself?"

"Not necessarily. And another set of eyes can't hurt."

"I'd rather go out on the search with Ranger and Lula," I grumbled. _God, I was even annoying myself. Stop it!_

Joe took it in stride. He handled sulkiness much better than sobbing. "It's a good offer, Cupcake. I'd take it." Kissing me softly, he added seriously, "Please Steph? I can't concentrate if I'm worried about you, and I really need to be focused. Rogers offered his grudging support yesterday, and I need to make it worth his worthwhile."

Looking at his face, I could see the lines of fatigue and stress around his eyes. _Did I really want to add to his burden, or did I want to help him? _

Instantly my petulance disintegrated. "Okay," I offered in a subdued tone. "I'll take some time to rest. I don't want you worrying about me."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm _always _worried about you. But this will help. Thanks." He took another subtle look at the clock.

"You need to go," I offered knowingly. "It's fine. I'm okay now."

"Are you sure? Because I'll stay—"

"Go slay the dragons, Sir Morelli," I prodded, giving him a slightly crooked smile. "Your princess is no longer pouting."

"My princess is the only thing holding me together," he admitted uncomfortably. "Thank you for last night, and this morning, and everything else you're doing, Stephanie—"

I put a finger over his lips. "It goes both ways. Call me if you need or learn anything, okay? Now go."

One more kiss and my knight was out the door, off to face both his personal and professional dragons.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

I waited until I was in the Avalanche before taking a moment to close my eyes and breathe.

Jesus, I was close to the edge, and I knew it. My body was so fucking exhausted I couldn't even think straight anymore. And that wasn't good. More than ever I needed to solve the Nagel and Flowers murders, find my brothers and Meachum's gang, and figure out Stampler's involvement as well as Bulldog's. I couldn't allow all of this to affect Stephanie or the babies' health any longer.

At the same time, I needed to find out the truth regarding what happened with my father that day twenty-seven years ago. Were Stephanie and Cheryl right? _Could _something else have happened—something I was refusing to remember? It seemed almost impossible. I knew I'd thrust the knife backward.

Scrolling through the contacts on my cell, I fired up the engine and dialed a familiar number while driving to the precinct.

"Gazarra."

"It's Morelli."

"Long time, no communicado, my friend."

Ignoring his poor attempt at Spanish, I replied, "Sorry. It's been a rough couple of weeks."

"No shit. You're calling about the file."

"Yeah. Is it still in the archives?"

"No, I anticipated this call and put it on your desk beneath the tallest of several stacks waiting for your review."

"Shit, that's dangerous taking it out of the archives. I don't want you getting into hot water because of me."

"I can stand the heat should it come to that."

"You're a good friend, Eddie. I appreciate it."

"You're not thinking of opening that thing up on your own though, are you?" he asked a little nervously. "We could _both _get fired—"

"I won't—I promise. I just want to have it before I proceed with Rogers."

"What's going on anyway? Steph wouldn't give me any details."

"As much as I'd like to, I can't give you any either—at least not yet."

"Seriously, Joe. Are you in trouble?"

_Yes. _

"I'm all right. Just a lot of irons in the fire right now."

"So I've heard. Rogers made a point of stopping in at this morning's briefing to announce he's stepping up the search for Tony and Paul."

"I'm aware of it."

"But are you _okay_ with it?"

_Better than the alternative at this point, which would be to have Bulldog find them, although the best scenario would be for Ranger and Lula to find them first._

"It's all good," I replied simply.

He let out a sigh of frustration. "Just remember your _other_ brothers are here for you, man. Whatever you need—all you have to do is ask."

_What if you knew I killed my own father? Would you still be so eager?_

"I appreciate it. Thanks again for your help, Eddie."

Disconnecting, I braced myself and dialed another familiar number of late.

"It's about time you touched base," Ranger greeted without so much as a 'hello'.

"Well here I am," I returned without explanation for my lack of calls. "What've you got for me?"

"I told you Lester and Bobby saw Bulldog leaving a warehouse down near Stark yesterday."

"I remember. Did you follow-up?"

"The place was deserted as far as we could tell, although it was sealed up tighter than Fort Knox and only had a few windows. I can't figure out what Jackson was doing there."

My brain was having a hard time engaging that morning for some reason. That's what happened when you only got a couple of hours asleep. There was _no _way in hell I'd allow Stephanie to have to endure another one of those flashbacks of mine. I was getting scared about how all of the stress around us was going to affect her pregnancy long-term. I would _never _forgive myself if something happened to either her or our children because of me.

"Morelli—" Ranger prompted impatiently when I hadn't said anything more for a few moments.

"I'm here."

I had to practically remind myself I was awake and not asleep. Copious amounts of coffee were definitely in my near future.

Pulling into the lot for the precinct, I parked the truck and said, "Well, I guess we had better luck in Newark than you did here."

I spent the next few minutes briefing him on what we'd found at Nagel's place as well as the meeting with Rogers and Reynolds and the discovery of Nagel's journal in his office.

"What's your gut telling you?" Manoso asked. "You think Stampler's dirty?"

"If not dirty—at least not as squeaky clean as he's always led people to believe. I definitely think he had something to do with Nagel's death. Maybe he didn't kill him, but he knows something. I've got to find him and his sister."

"And how does Bulldog fit into all of this?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. What's _your_ plan for today?"

"Lula and I are going back to the beginning. I'm picking her up in about ten minutes, and we're headed back out to Lil Conroy's place to look around again. You've got your gut churning about Stampler. Well, mine is churning about Lil. She knows something."

"Sounds good. I'm sorry I haven't been able to follow through with the Columbus PD yet. I'll call them today."

There was a slight hesitation where I think I'd stunned him with my apology. He finally responded flippantly, "You don't report to me. Do whatever you want" He then paused again before saying, "What's your wife doing today?"

The true sign of just how fucking tired I was came from the fact that I didn't even feel jealous or irritated he'd asked.

"I asked her to take a day off."

"Asked or ordered?"

"Don't start with me, Manoso," I sighed wearily. "I don't have time for this shit." Leaning my elbow on the center console, I cupped the side of my face in my hand, as it was suddenly too heavy to hold up on its own. "I asked her to go have some fun with Mary Lou, because I'm worried the stress of all this is affecting her pregnancy—"

"Is she all right?" His voice was low and accusatory.

"Yes. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of my wife," I shot back edgily. "She just needs a break. If she gets some rest, she might catch up with you and Lula later this afternoon. In the meantime, I left her with Stampler's personnel file. She's going to scan it later to see if Newark missed anything of importance."

Another sigh escaped without my being aware of it.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Manoso demanded with a rare show of exasperation. "You haven't been yourself since this whole thing began."

No doubt he was already regretting having shown even a hint of emotion or concern toward me.

"I'm fine."

I guess he decided in for a penny out for a pound, because he continued, "No—you're not. You're nowhere near your usual annoying self."

"Be careful, or I might think you actually care about me."

"I don't give a flying fuck about you, but I also know you, and—"

"You _think_ you know me, Manoso," I interrupted, surprising myself with how dangerous my voice sounded. "But you don't, and now isn't the time to try."

Completely ignoring my warning, he persisted, "If you have information that's pertinent to this search I'm doing—"

"I don't, okay?" I shot back in frustration. "Just find my brothers, I'll pay you what I owe, and our association can be finished—at least until the next time one of us needs the other professionally."

"Works for me."

"I figured it would. Keep in contact."

Knowing he wouldn't respond, I disconnected and took another, cleansing breath. It was time to push everything out of my brain except for the Nagel and Flowers investigations. I was a professional. The personal crap had to go—at least for now.

If only I weren't so friggin' tired.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"How come you don't ever let me drive?" Lula complained from the passenger's side of the Turbo.

Miracle of miracles, she'd been ready to go on time when I'd gotten to Tank's place earlier. Once again dressed in that ridiculous get-up of hers, she'd hustled to the car without any powdery donuts or Egg McMuffins in tow to mess up my car. She'd appeared focused and ready to roll.

For that I was willing to overlook the fact she was now filing her nails on our way over to Lil's place.

_Baby steps, Carlos. Baby steps._

"What in the hell would possess you to even _think _I'd let you drive my car?" I asked, truly baffled.

"We're partners, ain't we? Partners always take turns doin' things. My girl Steph and me always took turns. We were like Cagney and Lacey and all that shit." Her eyes took on a hopeful shine. "You know—we're kind of like partners now too, ain't we—sort of like David Addison and Maddie Hayes—"

"Who the hell are David Addison and Maddie Hayes?"

"You know—from that old show "Moonlighting". Now _there _was a fine looking man—Bruce Willis. He was the shit back then, wasn't he? Not as shit fine as you are, naturally, but still—"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"_What!_ You tellin' me you didn't watch "Moonlighting" when you were young?" She snorted.

My response was merely a low, warning growl, which she ignored.

"So seein' as we're like Addison and Hayes. Or, maybe it should be Dave and Maddie? Anyway, shouldn't I get a chance to drive the car too?" She paused long enough in her filing to turn and assess my profile, which I'm sure clearly reflected my grinding teeth.

"No," I answered simply, hoping she'd drop it.

"If it's about your precious Porsche, then how about next time we take my baby."

"Your _baby_?"

She looked at me as though I were an idiot, which lately I was beginning to think I was. "You know—my Firebird."

_Did she really think I wanted to ride in her car?_

"We're _not_ partners," I reminded her. "I'm your boss."

"Whatever. It'd be a hell of a lot more fun if we shared things more—driving and talking and stuff. Steph was always telling me her personal shit. She relied on me to solve her problems. You got any problems you need solved?"

The thought that Stephanie could have even _possibly_ mentioned our relationship at any point with this woman scared the living crap out of me.

Lula must have sensed the direction of my thoughts, because her smile got crafty. "Girlie told me all _kinds _of stuff."

_Shit. _"Which _we _will not discuss."

"Why not."

"Because it's rule number one in the employee handbook. All personal information shall remain private."

Her eyes shot up. "_What_ handbook? You told me you don't have one."

"It's the one I'm going to write as soon as I get back to Rangeman today."

Of course I already had an employee handbook, but I was starting to think I needed to create a special one just for Lula's training. I could think of all sorts of rules that needed to go in the damn thing.

"_Hunh!" _she grumbled and blessedly went back to filing her nails—in silence—until we pulled up to Lil's place ten minutes later.

This time Lil's car was parked in the driveway. Good.

"Ready?" I asked Lula, who'd thankfully put her file away and appeared ready to work.

"Ready," she nodded. "We doin' the same thing as last time?"

"Nope. This time you take the back. I want to see if I can get Lil to open the door."

"Okay." We stepped out of the car, and she immediately screwed up her nose. "_Shit_—there it is again. What _is _that funky smell around here?"

"Swamp—remember?"

"I know, but, damn, that smells nasty," she complained.

"Just watch your step back there," I warned. "One wrong move, and it's 'so long Lula'."

Her face took on a sickly expression, but she bravely took off for the back of the house, while I made my way up the front walkway and knocked on the door.

After three good poundings, Lil fumbled the door open and stood there scowling at me. She'd obviously just rolled out of bed, given the fact she was wearing a pair of micro sleep shorts and a tank top that barely concealed her well-endowed chest. For the coldest morning we'd seen yet in November, she looked ridiculous.

"What do you want, Ranger?" she rasped in a voice that had evidently seen a lot of alcohol and cigarettes at The Pokey the previous night. "I don't work until Noon today, and you're ruining my chance to sleep in." Her eyes brightened slightly and her voice lowered. "Unless this is a social call that is. You coming to see what you've been missing all these years, sugar?"

"May I come in?"

"If it's to see me—yes. If that's code for I want to search your house, the answer is no."

"You got something to hide?"

She merely rolled her eyes. "Sorry, I got rid of the ten dead bodies I was hiding yesterday. You're fresh out of luck. Now is that all?"

I took a step closer. "What've you been burning around here lately, Lil?"

There it was—just a brief flicker in her eyes before she shut down.

"Burning?"

"Yeah—you're friendly neighbor down the street told me she's been seeing lots of smoke around this place."

She sighed carelessly, but her posture was tense. "If you _must _know, it was leaves. It _is _fall, you know."

"Why do I have a hard time picturing Lil Conroy out raking up leaves and burning them," I taunted, crossing my arms across my chest.

"I don't care _what _you have a hard time doing," she retorted. "This interview is over. I'm getting cold standing here with the door open."

She moved to close it, and I stuck my boot in the door.

"Don't be a fool, Lil. You and I both know there's something going on around here. Tell me now, and I'll help. Once the cops get in on this, you're fried, and you know it."

She definitely looked scared now, but still tried to hide it beneath false bravado. "I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."

"Sure you do," I responded lazily. "This thing is coming to a head. It's going to blow wide open soon, and I'd hate to see an old friend get caught in the middle of something she didn't really understand."

"Fuck you, Ranger," she hissed, suddenly angry. "You don't give a damn about me, and the only person I care about is—"

She caught herself, and I quickly jumped in. "Who? The only person you care about is who, Lil? Tony? 'Cause if you think you're protecting him you're sorely mistaken. He's in deep shit, and the only one he's going to go back to when this thing is done is his _wife._"

"Go away before I call the cops on you for harassment," she cried out before shoving me back and slamming the door shut.

Moving fast, I circled to the back of the house where Lula was looking around the yard.

"Quick—we only have minutes before she calls the cops. Tell me what you've seen."

"There's nothing here that would indicate she's been burning anything—no leaf barrel, no fire pit or any of that shit. But you can smell it. Smell," she instructed me, and we both turned up our noses.

She was right. But the smell wasn't immediately close by. I could sense that now. It came from the swamp. Could there have been a fire of some kind out there? Stepping closer to the edge of the drop off, Lula and I scanned the area, although it was difficult to see anything with all of the trees and bushes.

"I've got a pair of binoculars in my trunk. I'll be right back," I called over my shoulder, already jogging toward the Turbo.

I knew Lil wasn't kidding. We had only minutes before the cops would be there and get after us for not only harassment but trespassing as well. Sure enough as I made my way back moments later with the binoculars, I could see her standing in the window, furiously smoking a cigarette.

Catching sight of me, she threw open the window and hollered, "Get the hell off of my property, Manoso."

"Gladly," I called back. "Just as soon as I take a look around."

"I'll have you arrested!"

"I'll be gone before they get here, Lil, and seeing as I'm working _with_ the police _(okay so that was a slight fabrication)_, they're not going to give a shit that I'm here. You should work with me before it's too late."

"Go to hell!"

Turning my back on her, I adjusted the field glasses and scanned the horizon.

"What'cha see?" Lula asked right next to my ear. "Hey, are those special spy glasses from the military or somethin'? Can I look through them?"

"No and no," I responded. "I see nothing but trees and swamp, except for a thin plume of smoke out there about a mile or so."

"What's it comin' from?"

"I can't tell. Maybe there's been some sort of fire."

"In a swamp?" Lula sounded disbelieving. "Is there such a thing?"

"How the hell do I know? My name is Ranger not Smokey. " _Good God, I was becoming just as much of a smartass as she was! Where was my self-discipline?_

Stealing another glance at the window and Lil's livid face, I muttered to Lula, "Let's go before the cops show."

I met Lil's eyes once more as we walked past the window. "It's your last chance," I called out.

She gave me a rude hand gesture, and I shrugged. No surprise there.

What _was _surprising was that no sooner had we climbed back into the Turbo than Lil's little old neighbor lady popped up out of the cramped backseat. She was wearing the same cotton candy bathrobe with curlers in her hair. Only this time she had on a pair of black combat boots with it. _Jesus._

"May I help you?" I asked rather sarcastically.

The woman hastily looked toward the window and hissed, "Shhh! Hurry up—move it."

Lula and I exchanged a glance, but I fired up the engine and headed down the street toward the woman's house.

"No! Keep going," she insisted, leaning forward between the two front seats, until she was almost level with Lula and me. "I don't want Lil to see me talking with you. I saw you two show up and snuck down here when you were out back. Figured Lil would have her eye on you and not me."

"What's your name anyway?" Lula asked.

"Ermine Hostetler," she said.

"Ermine, if you wanted to talk with me, why didn't you just call?" I asked, completely bemused. "I left you my card."

"I lost it," she confessed. "I think one of my cats might have eaten it."

"Damn, I knew I smelled something familiar," Lula exclaimed, shaking her head. "You smell just like my boyfriend's house. Jesus, now my nose is runnin' thanks to all that smoke and now the cat smell. How many of them creepy things you got anyway?"

Ermine sniffed. "Only twenty-two. I lost a couple with the heat this past summer."

_Twenty-two? Unbelievable._

"Damn!" Lula shouted and about took out my eardrum. "I thought Tank was bad. He ain't got nothin' on you. You're one of them creepy cat women whose house everyone's afraid to go into for fear there might be dead bodies of door-to-door salesmen hidden all over the place. You got any dead bodies?"

_How much more of this fucking insanity was I expected to take?_ _I swear to God Morelli was dead to me after this mess was over with_.

"Lula!" I snapped.

She immediately clammed up, but not before giving me a full-on Jersey eye roll. Rule number two of my new handbook was going to clearly state no eye rolls allowed.

"Let's _all_ try to focus here, shall we?" I asked, as calmly as I could with my blood pressure soaring. "Ermine, as much as I'm enjoying this chat of ours, I can't afford to drive around all day with you in your bathrobe in my backseat. What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"It's about the men," she confided, lowering her voice as if we were in a public place versus an area of about five square feet.

"What about the men?" I mockingly whispered back. My patience was fast approaching zero.

"I told you there are men going in and out of that place all the time—always has been, but lately—"

She paused and looked around carefully to see who might be listening. _Give me a fucking break. Why had every crazy person in the world suddenly been thrust into my life. Had my Karma finally come to bite me in the ass?_

"Lately, I've been seeing four or five different men skulking around her place at all different times of day and night."

"How would you know they're there at night? Isn't it dark?"

"I see the flashlights. Plus, I've got a night scope."

Lula and I exchanged a stunned glance. What the hell was an eighty-five year old woman doing with a night scope?

"Don't ask," I muttered to Lula out of the side of my mouth, because I _really _didn't want to know. In a louder voice, I continued, "Did you recognize any of the men?"

"Not really, although one of them might have been a regular around there."

"A regular? You mean she's a hooker?"

Ermine slapped my arm. "No! She's a nice gal. Never did me any harm. But she likes men and has a few that come around regularly."

"Can you describe any of the men you've seen?"

"Well, they've all got dark hair."

"That's it?" Lula asked. "Hell, even I can do better than that."

"Some of it was at nighttime!" Ermine responded huffily.

"Try and focus, ladies," I offered firmly. "Ermine, were they tall? Short? Thin? Fat?"

"I don't know," she cried, getting more flustered by the minute.

"Were they going _into _Lil's house or were they just _around _the house?"

"Mostly around. Yeah, I don't think I ever saw any of them go inside. At least, I don't think." She paused. "Now I'm not so sure."

"If I showed you pictures, do you think you might be able to recognize any of them?"

"I don't know," she confessed. Her confidence from when we'd first picked her up was rapidly disintegrating.

Lula handed her the file containing all the headshots of the people we were after. Ermine spent what seemed like hours pouring through each of them, memorizing their features and frowning over little details—and yet never saying a word. Meanwhile, I continued to drive aimlessly through the countryside, routinely sending Lula warning glances _not _to lose her temper. Ermine was fragile enough as it was, and I didn't need any more hassles today.

After twenty minutes, I couldn't take it any longer. "Well?" I asked as gently as I could. "What do you think?"

She held up a picture of Tony between Lula and me. "It's _possible _I've seen this one, but I can't remember if it's been in the past couple of days or if it was weeks ago. And the others look familiar too, but I—I just don't know. I'm sorry."

_I was too. _"No problem," I offered as sincerely as I could, immediately pointing the car toward her house again. "Maybe something will come to you at another time."

Five minutes later, we were in her driveway.

"Let me out quick," she demanded, pushing on the back of the driver's seat. "I don't want Lil seeing me talk with you two."

"Here." I shoved another business card into her hand. "Keep it out of reach of the cats, okay? And call me if you remember anything else—big or small."

"Roger," she saluted and headed off toward her bungalow, housecoat flapping in the stiff breeze and her combat boots clomping along the cement driveway.

"Another dead end," Lula complained, settling back into her seat. She glanced at her watch. "Hey, did you know it's ten o'clock already?"

_Not again._

"I think there's a McDonald's about three miles back that way," she said, thumbing toward the general direction of Trenton.

"No."

"You are _so _mean," she pouted. "I keep tryin' to remember why the heck I thought you was such the shit. 'Cuz it ain't comin' to me now for sure right now."

"It's because I eat insubordinate, large-boned women for breakfast. I chew them up and spit out the bones."

She looked at me like I was spitting out worms. "You crazy, boss man. You know that?"

_Yes, I was beginning to believe I was._

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"No—no—no—that one makes you look like Grandma Mazur," Mary Lou complained loudly.

"Thank you. Just want I wanted everyone in JC Penney to hear—that my boobs look like my grandmother's."

"It's that cotton crap you've got on. Can we _please _just go over to Victoria's Secret already?"

"NO! I told you I don't want to spend a ton of money yet. I'm just going to have to keep getting new bras, and it's ridiculous to put out that kind of money for ones I'll never be able to wear again once I go back to my normal size."

She snorted. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you'll _never_ get completely back to normal again."

"Don't tell me that. I've cried enough already this morning."

"You should be happy. In fact, remembering your regular size, you should think about having a dozen kids. Then you'll—"

"Shut up, Mare."

She tossed another one at me. "Can you at least _try _and think sexy. You're a newlywed, which means unlike the rest of us, you're probably still having sex. You need to look good for a man like Joe Morelli."

"_Not _to be the bearer of bad news," I returned saucily, "but I could be _wearing _Grandma Mazur's underwear and a man like Joe Morelli wouldn't care."

"I hate you," my best friend announced with complete sincerity.

I smiled smugly. "If I were you, I'd hate me too. I'm a damned lucky woman."

"Steph!"

Throwing my head back, I laughed hard for the first time in days. Joe had been right. Being with girl was exactly what I'd needed. After he'd left that morning, I'd gone back to bed for another hour. I'd then picked up Mary Lou, and we'd headed for the Quaker Bridge Mall in Lawrenceville where I'd quickly scored a few pairs of normal, decent looking blue jeans with an expandable waistband. I'd flat out refused to even look at a maternity store. I wasn't even twelve weeks, for crying out loud! And now I was trying to find a few decent bras that wouldn't break my bank until the next round of buying.

Finally settling on several fairly sexy, yet supportive ones within my price range, the two of us decided it was time for lunch.

"What are you craving these days?" Mary Lou wondered. She was being such a dear and schlepping the bulk of my packages.

"Besides peanut butter? I don't know. Maybe Chinese, except I'm supposed to be eating all of this healthy crap that I'm sick to death of already."

"How about The Cheesecake Factory? They have sautéed spinach as a side. You could get that and a steak—both of which would be completely healthy. And _then _you can have a slice of cheesecake," she said tantalizingly.

"Deal."

Thirty minutes later we were knee-deep in food and gossip—our two favorite things. To think six weeks ago I'd thought Mary Lou was someone who'd simply faded into my past thanks to my crazy lifestyle and mixed-up priorities. Now it was as though we'd never drifted apart. I could talk with her for forty days straight and never run out of topics. She was my true sister.

"So what's up with your husband?" she asked, taking another bite of her hamburger. "How's he holding up under the stress of two murder investigations and the fact that both of his brothers are missing?"

"How'd you know it's two investigations?"

"The Flowers murder finally made the paper. It mentions Joe as lead detective."

"Oh." I sounded glum.

Noticing my expression, Mary Lou waved her hand. "Come on—out with it. The doctor's in."

Hearing her say that made me think of Cheryl Sullivan and her matter-of-fact approach to counseling. It made me realize that Mary Lou was cut from the same cloth. She was going to be a wonderful help to people once she completed school, and I needed to be more supportive of her dream.

Ignoring her question about Joe, I looked at her seriously, "You're going to be a great counselor someday, Mare. I'm so proud of you for following this dream."

Her eyes widened at the same time her mouth dropped. I'd completely caught her off-guard.

"Um—gosh—thanks."

"I know we're from the Burg, which is synonymous with not expressing emotion, but that's all I have lately—lots and lots of emotion. So I might as well take advantage of it and tell you how glad I am to have you in my life."

A single eyebrow went up. "You're not going to hug me right now, are you?"

"I'll save that for later," I retorted dryly. "Now where's my cheesecake?"

After we'd both been served a huge slice of chocolate chip Nirvana, Mary Lou focused her shrewd gaze upon me once again. "Don't think I didn't see how you tried to brush me off about Joe. Is everything okay with you two?"

_Damn it. _She wasn't my best friend for nothing. The girl knew every trick in my bag of avoidance tactics. It wasn't that I didn't want to confide in her, but I wasn't certain how much Joe wanted people to know of his past. And my loyalty was always going to be to him first from now on.

"We're fine. Actually, better than fine—we're doing amazingly well considering last week I thought for sure he'd leave me over the whole paternity question. Now that I've finally learned my lesson about telling the truth, we're closer than ever." I paused, shocked at as my next words came tumbling out in complete sincerity. "I love him so much, Mare. It scares the shit out of me how much I love him."

She nodded and spoke without a trace of sarcasm, "I know. You spent so much of your adult life running from commitment. I can only imagine how frightening it must be to have realized how much better it is when you're part of a unit, especially with someone like Joe."

I found myself choking up again. _This REALLY had to stop. _"I'm ashamed at how blind I was to how perfect he really is."

A familiar gleam entered her eyes, "Let's not get lost in newlywed delusion here, Steph. He's NOT perfect. For Christ's sake, this is the same man you mowed down with a Buick."

The tears dried instantly. "You're right. God, he was scum back then, wasn't he? Pure scum." But then my expression softened again. "He's come a long way."

"You both have."

Deciding it was safe to share a little, I offered tentatively, "He's going through a really rough time with this business over his brothers. It's causing him to face some things in his childhood that are pretty difficult—tragic really."

Mary Lou nodded and took another bite of her dessert before responding. "You and I were both lucky growing up. From all I've heard about the Morelli family through the years, Joe wasn't as fortunate."

"It was bad," I whispered.

She gave me a funny look. "You're not afraid he's going to turn into his brothers, are you?"

_What?_

"No!" I rushed to say. "God no!"

"Because I'd stake my reputation as an amateur counselor that he's not," she stressed.

"Mare, that's not my fear at all. I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. It's Joe's story—not mine. I'm just fearful he's going to allow some recent revelations about the past to somehow define himself in his mind. He's always been such a rebel, especially when it came to his family, but this—this situation that's occurred—"

"The one you can't talk about."

"Right. It's causing him to question who he really is, and it's breaking my heart."

Surprising us both, she reached across the table to take my hand. "He may not be perfect, but he's pretty darn close. I've watched him grow up over the past several years. And I don't care _what _is going on right now with him; that man worships the ground you walk on. He's not going to let anything stop him in the end from being happy with you and your children. Believe me, Steph."

"Okay, you're right," I breathed unsteadily. "Sorry. It's these damned hormones. They're making me crazy."

"Been there—I know. Don't you remember I used to keep a sign on the front door when I was pregnant with Mikey?"

"Omigod—that's right. Green meant it was safe to come in; yellow meant enter at your own risk and red meant—"

'Watch out. I'm about to blow'!" Mary Lou exclaimed, and we both laughed.

"I'd totally forgotten about that!" My voice softened. "Thanks. Joe was right. I do feel better after having spent the morning doing something other than obsessing about everything else going on in our lives. But now I'm tired. I need to go home and take a nap."

"Been there too," she smirked. "Have you fallen asleep at the dinner table yet?"

"No, and I'm not planning on it either, thank you very much. You ready?"

"Let's go," she agreed.

Ten minutes later we were putting my packages in the car when Mary Lou suggested, "Why don't you just take Quakerbridge Road all the way back this time? It's a little longer distance-wise, but way less traffic."

"Whatever you say," I agreed tiredly. I was getting that 'trudging through water' feeling again where I just wanted to collapse. "Maybe you'd better drive."

"Sure."

We set off with Mary Lou singing to the radio and me nodding off in the passenger seat. Halfway back to the Burg, my eyes shot open. "What the hell is that smell?" I wondered, screwing up my nose. "Is that a skunk?"

"No, it's Great Bear Swamp. It's over that way about a half mile." She pointed off to the right. "Mikey's class went there last year for a field trip to collect plant specimens. It's just a little one—not nearly as big as the Trenton-Hamilton Swamp."

The smell was of decay—both earthy and funky.

"Stop for a minute," I demanded, sitting up straighter.

"Oh God—you're not going to be sick, are you?" Mary Lou panicked, quickly swerving to the side of the road.

It was always a real possibility with me of late, but my mind was too busy right then to worry about my stomach. _Where the hell had I smelled that same odor recently?_

"Paul!" I shouted so loudly Mary Lou slammed on the brakes.

"Where? What?" she swiveled her head around.

"_That's _the smell Paul had on him last Sunday when he came to visit Joe and me at the house!"

"What the hell are you talking about, Morelli? You're making absolutely no sense."

"Paul smelled like he'd been living in a swamp." I paused, thinking furiously. "But where would he—omigod!"

"What!"

"Lil Conroy's place! Lula told me it smelled at her place too, and she lives on a smaller swamp near the edge of the Trenton-Hamilton Swamp. I didn't get out of the car when we were there the other day, and that odor wasn't _nearly _as evident as this one obviously, or I would have smelled it through the car windows."

"You think your brother-in-law is living in a swamp?" Mary Lou looked at me doubtfully.

"I think _both _my brothers-in-law are living in a swamp," I corrected her, my eyes glittering.

"Did Tony smell the same way when he assaulted you last Thursday?"

I thought back. "Yes! With both of them, I attributed the odor to sweat and nerves, but, in both instances, there was some other odor mixed in that was just disgusting. It was _this _smell."

"Steph, I don't mean to burst your bubble, but how the hell would they be able to survive out there? There's no way. It's been cold at night this past week—really cold. And what about snakes and—"

"There wouldn't be any snakes right now. It's November. They would've all hibernated already—I think. And maybe they have a tent or—"

"I think those hormones of yours have made you goofy. Come on. Let's get you home."

"No! Please, Mare. I need for you to drive me to Lil Conroy's house."

"What? No—absolutely not. Joe would kill me."

"No, he wouldn't. I was out the other day with Ranger and Lula, and he didn't—"

"Get out—Joe was okay with you and Ranger working together!"

_Okay, clearly we hadn't spent enough time at lunch catching up._

"If you drive me, I'll explain everything on the way. I just want to see if it's the same smell at Lil's as it is here and maybe take a look around a little. Please?" I gave her my most desperate look. "If not, I'll just drop you off at your house and do it anyway. This way someone will be with me."

Mary Lou looked at me, completely torn. "Aargh! Don't look at me like that! Fine—I'll drive you, but we're _only _looking, right? You promise you'll be careful with those babies?"

"I promise not to do anything stupid. I've turned over a new leaf, Mare."

_I think._

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"You should've had the meatball sub," Lula mumbled around a mouth of sandwich. "Man, I've been cravin' one of these suckers since we saw Steph at Pino's the other night. 'Course this ain't no Pino's sub, but it's good. Better 'n that salad you're eatin' anyway. Damn—don't you get sick of rabbit food after awhile?"

We were sitting in a Subway shop not to far from the Bonds Office. After we'd left Lil Conroy's place, Lula had insisted that if we weren't going to get any lunch, she needed to go after a few skips for Vinnie, seeing as she was the only real bounty hunter he had left. To my surprise, she'd done most of the work on her own—and very well. I hadn't been too keen on stuffing FTA's into the back of the Turbo on two separate occasions, but it'd been worth it to see some of the training I'd been giving her pay off.

I'd finally agreed to take a lunch break at twelve thirty, and now my formerly silent protégée was once again yakking my ear off.

"How about it?" she pressed. "Do you get sick of it?"

"I never get sick of doing the right thing for my body. Keeping it fine-tuned is critical for doing the job, as it should be for you," I pointed out seriously. "Meatball subs aren't going to do you much good when you're chasing down a skip."

"I can't argue that your body is fine-tuned just _fine_," she sassed, giving me the once over and grinning. "But if I'm only goin' through this life once, I'm eatin' how and what I want. Who knows what they got up there to eat in Heaven. What if it's rabbit food?" Her expression grew worried. "Gawd, you don't think it's rabbit food do ya?"

"Worse yet—I think it's Manna," I baited her seriously.

"Them little wafer things?" Her eyes grew wide. "Shit—I'll _die_," she moaned, missing her own irony completely. She looked up at the menu board, "I think I'd better get me another sub."

My cell phone chose that moment to ring.

_Lester._

Holding up an index finger, I answered the phone.

"Manoso."

"Get over here now!" my cousin's anxious voice ordered. He sounded both breathless and panicked.

Instantly, adrenaline and training kicked in. "What's up?"

He blew out a breath. "Bobby and I were at that warehouse again. We caught sight of Bulldog around mid-morning and followed him. He came here about thirty minutes ago and somehow got inside the building. We were watching the place, trying to decide whether to go in or not when Paul Morelli came bursting out the back of the building and started running on foot down Stark. Not two minutes later Bulldog came out the same door looking around for Morelli."

"Where are they now?" I demanded, already standing and motioning for Lula to follow me to the car.

"I don't know! Bulldog got into his car and took off in the same general direction as Morelli did. I wasn't sure what to do, so I had Bobby take off after Bulldog, while I decided to go in and see what the deal was with the warehouse."

"And?"

I heard a gulp, which was unusual for Lester. He was one cool dude.

"Lester!"

"Jesus, they're dead, Ranger—"

"Who's dead?" I cut him off. _Hurry up!_

"Punk Malone, Eric Gambino and Buster Herrick."

_Meachum's boys?_

"What about Meachum?"

"He's barely alive. I've called 911, but I don't think he's going to make it either."

"How?"

"Single gun shots to the head. Meachum must've moved though, because his wasn't a direct hit."

_Fuck._

By then, Lula and I were already in the Turbo and racing out of the parking lot. "Do what you can. I'm on my way."

"What is it?" Lula asked from her side of the car. She looked like she was about to toss up her meatball sandwich.

"Shooting at that warehouse on Stark—Meachum and company."

"Oh Lawd!"

_Had Morelli already heard through dispatch?_

I grabbed my phone.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

After a morning filled with trying to play catch-up on all the other cases currently being investigated under Vice and Homicide, I found time to hassle Frances Ling and the rest of the forensic people upstairs but to no avail. It was after twelve thirty by the time I made it back to the bullpen and my office, having snagged a bag of Chex Mix and a Coke from a vending machine to keep my energy going.

Sitting down, I realized it was the first time I'd been in my office in two days. Gazarra hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said there were stacks of files and paperwork awaiting my review or signature. Briefly I wondered how Stephanie was doing. Had she been sick any more? Was she doing the smart thing and relaxing with Mary Lou?

I thought about calling her, but then saw the mountains of work in front of me. _Shit. _I needed to at least get the most pressing paperwork taken care of, so I could get a lot of people off of my back and get back to my own investigations. I wanted to go back to Meachum's house with Rodriguez and Davis, who were working on coordinating with Newark on the Nagel investigation.

Dutifully, I pulled out the first file on top of the 'critical pile' and began to skim. Thirty seconds later I knew it was useless. My brain _knew _the sealed file was sitting there on my desk.

I finally gave up and pulled the file out from underneath the largest stack and simply stared at.

* * *

_Tony came over to where I was sitting on the couch, eating a plateful of potato chips. Nobody had stopped me when I'd loaded them onto my plate from the buffet table. He plopped down next to me, and I could smell the beer on his breath. But I didn't mind. Tony wasn't like my father. He could hold his liquor. Yeah—he wasn't anything like my old man—the one who drank and swore and hit and pushed people around. My father was dead now._

_Tony swung an arm around my shoulder. "Doing okay, Joey?"_

"_Why wouldn't I be?" I asked defensively._

"_No reason. Just thought maybe you'd be kind of sad. Death is hard to understand at any age, but especially when you're eight years old. Are you scared?"_

"_I ain't scared of nothing," I denied hotly. "I'm GLAD he's dead. You are too, right Tony? You and Paulie are glad he's dead too. No more hitting, right? Everything's gonna be okay now. Ma's sad, but she'll get over it, right? You're gonna take care of her now too, huh Tony? You and Paulie?"_

_Tony closed his eyes briefly. "Right, Joey," he answered softly. "I'm going to take care of you—and Ma—just like I always have." He took another swallow of beer, and I relaxed against his arm._

"_Tony?"_

"_Yeah, buddy?"_

"_Why'd you let Dad hit you so much?"_

_His body got all stiff-like next to me for a second, and then he relaxed again. "It's nothing for you to worry about. You let me worry about things, okay? Just remember I'll always be here for you, Joey. I'll always be looking out for you—always taking care of you. Do you believe me?"_

"_Sure I do!" I grinned. "You and Paulie are always taking care of me, but I don't understand things sometimes. I don't understand why Dad was always sneaking into the girls' room—"_

"_And you don't need to know," he interrupted forcefully. "You leave things to me, Joey. Everything's going to be different now. Got that?"_

"_Yeah, but I don't get why Dad did those things. I don't get why he's dead. Is it because I—"_

_Tony wrapped his free hand over my mouth. "NO! It's not because of anything other than the fact he was a mean, son of a bitch. You got that? You remember NOTHING else but that, Joey! Nothing!_

_His hand over my mouth scared me, until he finally released it. Why should I be scared of Tony? He'd never hurt me. _

"_Whatever you say, Tony?" I grinned again. "You're the best big brother ever!"_

"_And you're going to be the BEST Morelli ever, little brother."_

"_But Tony—why did Dad hit me? What'd I do? I wouldn't have used the knife if—"_

_Again, Tony wrapped his hand over my mouth and my heart raced. "Stop it, Joey," he said sternly. "I want you to forget about that business with the knife, and Dad and everything else. You hear me? You NEED to forget about ALL of it!"_

"_But I can't," I protested, my face starting to crumble. _

_Man, I didn't want to cry—not in front of Tony. He wouldn't think that was cool at all. I wanted to be cool. I wanted to forget about what happened out there in the garage. I STILL didn't understand completely what had happened. One minute Dad had been about to kill me and the next—_

_Tony read my mind. "FORGET IT." His eyes turned purposeful. "If you love me, Joey boy, you'll forget all of this. Mom wants you to forget it. Paul wants you to forget it—the girls do—but mostly I do, big boy. I want you to forget it all. I'm taking care of things now."_

_I didn't want to disappoint Tony. He was my hero—and Paul too. _

_I needed to forget about what happened. I NEEDED to—_

* * *

My cell phone rang, and I nearly jumped a foot. Once again I'd slipped into the past without any intention and just like that my subconscious had given me another glimpse at what had happened that horrendous day with my father.

Without even looking at the Caller ID, I answered, "Morelli."

"Get to that warehouse on Stark—now," Ranger's voice sounded urgent and focused. He rattled off the address. "Meachum's cronies are dead, and Meachum is close to it himself."

"What the fuck!" I stood and grabbed my leather jacket off the back of my chair. "How?"

"Single gun shots to the head."

"You were there?"

I was already running down the hallway. "Get Rodriguez and Davis on the line. Tell them to meet me at 1653 Stark. It's at the cross-section with Division." I ordered the first secretary I came across. Hurry!"

Back on the phone, I was all-cop and as alert as I'd been in days. "How do you know all this?"

"Lester called. He and Bobby followed Bulldog there."

"Jesus, did he kill them?"

"I don't know. Lester said they also saw Paul on site too."

_Oh fuck. Oh please, God—no. _Manoso's words were like a punch to the gut. "Where are they now?"

"Both of them took off—Paul on foot and Bulldog by car. Bobby's in pursuit. Lester's trying to keep Meachum alive until one of us gets there. He's already called 911."

"God damn it!" I hit the top of my truck in frustration before climbing in and firing up the ignition. "How far are you?"

"Lula and I will get there right about the same time you do."

"Steph's not with you, right?" I asked, desperate for the assurance she was safely with Mary Lou.

"No, I haven't heard from her today." His voice turned critical. "You don't know where your own wife is?"

"Unlike some people—I don't see the constant need for her surveillance. I want her to have a life."

"Idiot."

"Asshole."

"I'll meet you there."

"You're damned right you will."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

As soon as Mary Lou and I stepped out of the car, I knew for certain the smells from this swam and the Great Bear Swamp were the same as the odor I'd smelled on both Tony and Paul. The excitement of feeling as though I were on the right track had completely obliterated my fatigue from after lunch.

"Doesn't look like anyone's home," Mary Lou commented nervously. "What do you say we head back to the Burg now."

"Don't be a sissy girl. There's nothing to be afraid of," I chastised, moving directly toward the backyard and trying to appear like a big, bad bounty hunter.

"Watch that drop off," she screeched like an old mother hen.

"For God's sake, Mare—would you just chill? There's no one around, and we're just looking. I wish I had some binoculars."

Mary Lou's cell phone rang. "It's Lenny," she fretted. "I need to take this. Hello?...No, I did not promise to take your mother to the beauty parlor today…What?...Hell no, Lenny…I don't care—"

She paused and saw me staring at her.

"I'll just take this around front," she said somewhat embarrassedly before giving me a pointed look. "Be careful."

She slipped around to the front of the house, leaving me to stare out into the swamp. About a half-mile back, I could see a single plume of smoke rising in the air. _What was that? _Aargh, I'd have given anything for a pair of binoculars!

Inching my way closer to the edge of the drop-off, I strained to see what was out there in the distance.

"What the fuck are you doing here!" a harsh, guttural voice hissed near my ear.

Gasping, I tried to turn, but my upper arm was locked within a vise-like grip. Turning my head, my blood went cold.

_It was Tony._

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Manoso and Lula pulled up at the same time as I did near the warehouse. We were out of our respective vehicles in seconds and headed for the door. The paramedics, the fire department and two police cruisers were already there.

Lester met us at the back door, which was hanging open.

"Hurry up," he urged, leading us down a bare corridor. In fact, the whole warehouse appeared empty.

Three more hallways later and he opened another door, revealing stairs that went down underground. Lester, Manoso and I were halfway down when I realized Lula was still standing at the top, completely frozen in panic.

"I can't!" She shook her head in fright. "I haven't been down a flight of stairs since I got stuck at Zooky Carlozo's house. I—I can't—not yet."

I looked at Ranger in impatience, while he appeared torn between frustration and sympathy.

After only a slight hesitation, he nodded at his apprentice. "It's okay. You can go ahead and wait outside for us."

She turned away gratefully while the rest of us tramped down the rest of the stairs and into an enormous storage area. No matter which way we turned there were more boxes and crates and shipping flats filled with drugs.

It was the fucking mother lode for our Vice Department.

"Holy Shit," Manoso breathed beside me.

Our attention was directed toward the center of the room where Jason Meachum and his three partners in crime laid spread out in a river of blood and brain matter. No matter how many times I'd seen death, and in some of the most heinous situations imaginable, it still turned my stomach. I was glad Lula had stayed upstairs.

The paramedics were working feverishly over Meachum. I saw Carl and Big Dog standing off to the side and approached them both.

"What's the word?"

"He won't make it, Joe." Carl shook his head.

"Is he conscious?"

"Barely in and out," Big Dog offered sympathetically. They both knew this development was not what I needed.

"Who's in charge here?" one of the paramedics called out.

"Stepping closer, I said, "I am—Joe Morelli, Vice and Homicide."

The seasoned paramedic, whom I'd seen more times than I'd ever want at similar crime scenes, jerked his head toward Meachum. "He's about gone, but I think he's conscious."

I knelt down next to what was left of Meachum's face and tried not to focus on the smell of death surrounding him.

"Meachum. Jason—can you hear me? Who did this to you?"

A low moan came from his throat. He was already slipping.

"Meachum. _Who_ did this to you?"

Another burst of air—"Pbaull."

And then he was gone.

I lifted my head, looking around. "What the hell did he say?"

"I heard Paul," the paramedic offered.

Lester shook his head. "I think it was Bull."

My eyes met Ranger's, who was standing next to Lester. We both were thinking the same thing.

_Who the fuck had killed these men?_


	15. Chapter 15

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Once again my fabulous Beta reader Julie gave me some knock-out advice for this chapter. Thanks so much, my friend. You truly are brilliant.

Thank you to everyone for the continued support, and a special welcome and thanks to both somewhereinwonderland and dopey121, both of whom discovered my stories this past week. I appreciate your feedback.

Things are starting to heat up, folks. Let's go!

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

**Steph's POV**

"I asked you a question. What the fuck are you doing here, Steph?" Tony growled, pulled me further backward into the relative safety of Lil's small yard.

"What do you think I'm doing here, you idiot? I'm looking for you!" I blurted, and then quickly regretted my outburst.

Once again he was stone cold sober—just as he'd been during our last confrontation a week ago in my home. Despite being out in the fresh air, I could smell him—even stronger than the last time. His eyes were burning hot, scorching a sense of fear right into me. And, in that second, I knew I had _two _babies in need of my protection.

Without warning, I screamed, "Mare! Help!" At the same time, my booted foot swung backward, and the heel caught him directly on the shinbone.

"OW! Jesus Christ!" He went down like a felled tree and rolled into a ball, clutching his leg in agony. "What the hell did you do that for?"

I wasn't even listening to him. My brain had switched to Ranger mode and the little training I'd gleaned through the years kicked in. _Here was Tony! We had him._ Now how the heck was I supposed to bring him in? Where was my bag? And _where _on earth was Mary Lou?

For good measure, I kicked my new brother-in-law again—this time in the stomach. He immediately started coughing and gasping.

Before he could open his mouth, I yelled, "_That _was for last Thursday, you ignorant jerk." Looking over my shoulder, I screamed, "Mary Lou!"

"What about last Thursday?" he wheezed confusedly, using his free hand to grasp his gut.

He looked genuinely stymied. _You mean the idiot couldn't even remember he'd assaulted me in my very own kitchen? _Had he lost his mind?

"You don't recall breaking into our house last week and confronting me about the suitcase?"

"Of course I do," he retorted, slowly regaining his voice, raspy as it was. He looked at me as though _I _were the one who'd lost my mind. "I didn't _break_ in. I used the key Joey gave me. I told you that. Has this pregnancy done something to your brain cells?"

I didn't know whether to be frightened or fascinated by his attitude—perhaps both. "No, but clearly alcohol has done something to _yours_. You threatened me that day, Tony. You caused me to pass out from fear, bringing potential harm to my unborn _children_."

Whipping off my jacket, I pulled my sweater off the shoulder for a brief second to show him the still fading bruise from where he'd grabbed onto me the last time. "You see this? It's a little reminder of how much you were trying to protect me last week!"

Tony's eyes narrowed speculatively. "_I _did that?"

_How could such an idiot be related to the smartest man I knew? _

"_Yes_, you did that! And Joe is already determined to injure you because of it. If you do anything else to me, he'll likely kill you."

"_Do_ to you? What the fuck would I _do _to you?" Again, he looked puzzled. "I'm sorry about your arm, and I probably shouldn't have put my hand over your mouth either that day. But I'm merely trying to _protect_ you two. You need to get out of here—now."

Not without him! _But how could I stop him from escaping? _My bag was in the car, and I wasn't even sure what was_ in _the bag weapon-wise other than snack food. My phone was buried in there somewhere too. _Should I make a run for it or try to get Mary Lou to help me?_ With his injured leg, Tony wasn't going to be running anywhere too fast—for a few minutes at least.

I didn't know whether to be afraid or not. My gut was telling me 'no', but my newly discovered maternal instinct was saying, 'be careful'. I was still debating within myself when he slowly staggered to his feet. The horrific odor had my stomach rolling in response.

"_Don't _kick me!" he warned with a glare upon seeing my foot move back instinctively. "I'm _not _going to hurt you. I don't know why you keep thinking I'd want to. You're my brother's wife, for Christ's sake."

"When has that ever stopped you?" I reminded him pointedly. "You've already come on to me twice in the three weeks I've been married."

He flushed before excusing himself. "That was alcohol talking. Believe me, I don't want to hurt you, Stephanie, so will you please just shut up and listen to me for a minute?"

For whatever insane reason, I believed him. I honestly didn't think he was planning to physically hurt me—intimidate perhaps—but not cause injury. I hoped I wasn't making the biggest mistake of my life by trusting him.

Glancing at my watch, I raised an eyebrow and said, "You've got one minute to talk—go."

He didn't waste any time. "You need tell Joey to stop pushing so hard. Paul has been trying to turn this thing around, but he can't with Joe messing everything up for us."

"_Messing_ everything up?"

You could have knocked me over with a cheese puff; I was so incredulous.

"Are you friggin kidding me? He's been practically _killing_ himself trying to save your sorry asses!"

Suddenly I wasn't scared at all. I was flat out incensed. Completely forgetting about safety or Mary Lou, righteous anger on behalf of my husband had Mt. Stephanie erupting again.

Giving him a sound poke in the chest, I exploded. "Do you have any fucking idea what Joe's been going through the past week, Tony? Do you know how many times he's gone out on a limb for you and Paul with his boss? Or how much mental energy he's put into trying to figure out where you might be or how he might be able to prove that Paul didn't kill Louie Nagel and Myra Flowers—"

"Myra?" All the color that had flushed Tony's face earlier drained in an instant, and his mouth dropped open. "Myra's dead? Oh sweet Jesus—when?"

_Had he REALLY not known about her death, or was he lying? _I honestly couldn't tell.

"A couple of days ago at Meachum's house."

He took a step backward and ran his hands through his oily hair. "Fuck—this is unbelievable. Everything's out of control."

"And you think _Paul _is somehow going to 'turn things around'?" I mocked. "Give me a friggin break, Tony—you two are _buried_ without Joe's help. Where _is_ Paul anyway?" I demanded. "Where've you two been hiding? I know it's not directly with Lil, but it has to be around here somewhere. You positively reek of this swamp."

"Myra's dead," Tony repeated in wonder. "He must've killed her too."

I jumped on his statement. "Who!"

He shook his head. "Forget it, Step. Really—it's for your own good."

I shook _my _head right back at him. "That was the wrong thing to say, brother. Your minute is almost up."

"Tell Joe to—"

I got into his face. "I'm _not_ telling Joe anything. _You're _going to tell _me_ where Paul is, and the two of you are coming with me to turn yourselves in before this deal gets any more out of hand. If for no other reason, your mother can't afford to lose her house."

A flash of guilt appeared briefly in his chocolate brown eyes—eyes so similar to my husband's and yet completely lacking Joe's warmth or soul.

"How _is_ my mom?" his voice dropped to a sincere whisper.

My eyebrows shot up. "How can you even ask such a stupid question? Your _whole_ family is going crazy over you two idiots—Joe most of all."

Tony shook his head miserably. "Had you only given me the suitcase right away, none of this would have happened."

"Omigod—I don't believe it! No you're blaming _me_?" I was dumbfounded. "This _whole_ mess is the result of your having encouraged your brother into having an affair with a seventeen year old child. _You _are responsible."

He actually looked somewhat chagrined. "I didn't know she was seventeen."

"Seventeen—twenty-two—sixty-four—it doesn't matter. You seem to have forgotten that you're both married men!

"I don't need a lecture—especially from someone who has two-timed my baby brother in the past," he reminded me ironically. "Maybe I haven't always made the right choices, but I've put everything on the line for my brothers," he insisted. "And because of it—I've lost my wife, my kids, my job—"

He really was delusional, and, despite my embarrassment that he'd once more reminded me of my own questionable past choices, I couldn't seem to stop my mouth from egging him on. "You lost all of those things because you're an alcoholic, womanizing _loser_."

His expression hardened. "Now you sound like my father. I'm _not _a loser, Stephanie. _HE _was a loser!"

His fierce declaration seemed to knock the wind out of both our sails, leaving us to stand there in silence. Inside I acknowledged the fact that while Tony may be an idiot and he may have caused an awful lot of problems in the past couple of weeks, he'd still suffered through a horrible upbringing.

"You're right, Tony—Rocco was a loser," I said softly. "_None _of you deserved to be treated the way he behaved toward your family."

"You have no idea," he snarled, trying to sound tough and failing miserably. It was clear he still ached for his childhood—much in the same way I'd watch Joe ache in recent days.

"I know more than you think," I continued in a calm voice. "And so does Joe." Pausing for courage, I added, "He's remembering, Tony."

His eyelid twitched, but he said nothing.

"He's been slowly losing his mind over the past week while remembering bits and pieces of the night your father died."

If I'd thought his face had gone pale before, it was _nothing _compared to the pallor of it now.

"_What _did you say?" he whispered.

I bit my tongue, struggling with whether I was doing the right thing or not. My insatiable curiosity was begging to find out what had happened in Mrs. Morelli's garage, but at the same time—"

"Stephanie," he warned in a low, nervous voice. "_What_ does Joey remember?"

"He thinks he stabbed and killed your father with a switchblade that belonged to you." I admitted, my heart in my throat. "Is—is that true?"

Tony's face was set in stone, but I could see a vein pulsing rapidly in his throat. "That's _all _he remembers?"

"He's had a number of flashbacks, including the funeral, but that's all he's remembered on the actual day—September 10."

He flinched at the date, passing a trembling hand over his eyes and around his mouth.

My voice dropped to a throaty whisper. "Tony, please—I'm asking you to tell me the truth. It's destroying Joe to know his family has kept something so vital from him his entire life—"

"No."

"Come with me right now, and we'll talk with him together," I continued to urge. "Let's go get Paul, and the three of us can meet him at the precinct. Please—"

"No!"

Now I was begging. "Put an end to this nightmare once and for all—for me, for Joe, for your mother, for Angelina and the kids, who've been forced to flee—"

"Stop!" He threw his hands over his ears protectively. "You _don't _understand. If Joe remembers—"

At that moment, Mary Lou came around the corner with her head down, looking at her cell phone. My bag was slung over her right shoulder. I'd been so focused on Tony those past few minutes, I'd completely forgotten about her.

"Sorry that took so long," she apologized. "I ended up sitting in the car, because Lenny wouldn't stop talking. Your phone rang while I was in there, so I brought your bag—"

She looked up then and saw Tony standing next to me—and instinctively went berserk. One second she was fifteen feet from us with her mouth hanging open and the next my bag and her phone went flying as she leaped onto Tony's back. _My _mouth dropped open while watching her try to beat the living shit out of him, landing blow after blow onto his shoulders, ears and neck—anywhere her fists could reach.

"Mare!" I cried out, completely horrified. While I was grateful for her loyalty, she was out of control.

"Run, Steph! No—better yet—get your gun from your bag."

_My gun? Did I even have it? _My head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton, and I couldn't concentrate. If I had my gun, I could force Tony to turn himself in and give Joe the answers he needed.

On autopilot, I reached for my bag and started sorting through it to see if I had any kind of weapon. There was Brian Stampler's personnel file I kept intending to read, a hairbrush, some peanut butter crackers, lipstick, a compact, an apple, a box of raisins, two tampons (which I obviously wouldn't be needing for awhile), gum and my cell phone. Per usual, no gun, pepper spray, taser or handcuffs to be found. Aargh!

Meanwhile, Mary Lou and Tony looked as though they were playing a modified game of 'chicken'. He was running around in circles trying to buck her off his back, while she had her arms wrapped around his neck choking him.

"Mary Lou, stop!" I demanded loudly. "He's not trying to hurt me."

My cell phone rung in my hand, and I answered it out of reflex.

The Caller ID read unknown.

"Hello?" I asked tentatively, ignoring Tony and Mary Lou's continued battle.

"Stephanie?" The voice that met mine was not tentative—more like furious.

_Angelina._

"Angelina? Oh! Uh—hey—what's going on?"

"Stephanie, are you getting help or what?" Mary Lou chastised me loudly from the yard. Her face was beat red with sweat from trying to stay on Tony's back. "Run—call the police—do _something_!"

"Who's that yelling?" Angelina demanded in my ear.

"Mary Lou Stankovic."

"Where are you?"

"I think the better question is where are _you_?"

"Stephanie, get—this brick shithouse—off of my back—now!" Tony grunted in between gasps for air. Mary Lou's grip must've loosened for him to be able to speak that clearly.

"I'm on the phone with your wife, you idiot! So shut up!" I shouted back at him.

"What?" Angelina inhaled sharply. "Tony is with _you?_ You've found him—?"

"More like he found me, but—"

"I do NOT want to talk with him!"

"Well, he's kind of busy anyway," I observed dispassionately. _What was wrong with me? _It was like all my brain cells had suddenly decided to take a nap. Come to think of it, the rest of me was thinking it might be a good idea too.

"What's happening with him and Paul—?" she started to ask and then stopped herself. "Never mind—I don't want to know."

Tony had stopped short at the mention of Angelina's name, causing Mary Lou to tumble off of his back and onto the ground.

_Whoa—I hadn't heard her curse like that that in a l-o-n-g time._

"Angie's on the phone?" Tony looked both hopeful and terrified. "Can I talk with her? Is everything okay? Is it one of the kids? Where are they?"

I turned away from him. "Where are you?" I asked into the phone.

"I'm at Paul and Adrienne's house," she snapped angrily. "I came to get us all more clothing, but when I got to their place, there was someone sleeping in their bedroom."

_Jessie._

"Was it a teenage girl?" I asked in a stage whisper. "Did she wake up and see you?"

Tony tried to grab the phone from me, and Mary Lou immediately knife-handed his arm away.

"OW! Jesus Christ, Mary Lou—quit it! What would Lenny think of your behavior today?"

Mary Lou opened her mouth to blast him, and I waved my arm frantically to shush them both.

"He's not going to hurt us," I hissed at Mary Lou, with my hand over the phone. She looked doubtful—and almost disappointed. My best friend had always loved a good fight.

"Was it a teenage girl, Angie?" I asked again, moving even further away to prevent Tony from overhearing the conversation. Mary Lou had taken the hairbrush from my purse and was brandishing it in her hand like a weapon ready to attack if necessary.

Angelina swore. "It's Paul's teenage lover, isn't it," she declared flatly. "I saw the name Jessie written on her backpack."

_Back pack. _We hadn't seen any backpack when we'd searched the house two days ago.

"Yes, I think it is. Listen, too much has happened to explain everything right now, but can you stay there until I can find someone to go get Jessie and the backpack?"

Tony had been inching toward me and overheard Jessie's name. His eyes went buggy. "_Jessie_? Jessie Stampler is in Trenton?" He threw up his arms. "Jesus Christ, could anything else go wrong? Where is she?"

Meanwhile, Angelina fumed. "Hell no, I'm not waiting! I've got to get back to Adrienne and the kids. This bullshit is no longer our concern. I merely called to ask you or Joe to get _whomever _this tramp is out of their house. Put her in jail for all I care, but _get_ her out of that house."

"Are you planning on leaving your husbands for good?" I didn't know whether to be hopeful or sad at the notion. Tony looked positively stricken.

"I have no _idea_ what the fuck we're doing right now, Stephanie. We're barely getting by day to day on money my parents gave me to escape. Our lives aren't all sweet and dreamy like the fairy tale _you're _living."

"Oh yeah, my life's a real treat—thanks to all of you," I shot back sardonically, giving Tony a glare in place of his wife. My temper had once again kicked into gear. "I'm not even sure why I'm still speaking with you. You purposefully lied to me last week about that suitcase, Angie."

Tony moved closer and started hammering me with requests. "Tell her I love her and the kids, Steph. Tell her I'm so sorry. Tell her once I get this situation straightened out, she can come home, and we'll get our lives back on track. Better yet, let _me _talk with her."

"Can you hear him?" I asked dryly into the receiver.

"I hear him," Angelina tried to sound disgusted, but her voice hitched on the last word.

After all the humiliation she'd endured from her husband, it was clear she still loved him.

"I'm sorry about the deal with the suitcase," she apologized softly. "And I'm sorry you had to get involved in this nightmare. You were so good to me that day at the house. I won't ever forget that, Steph. But you have to understand Adrienne was practically assaulted in her own home by the meanest SOB drug dealer in Trenton. She has no family in the area, and she's my best friend. We both have children to think about. We _had _to leave."

"Speaking of nightmares, Joe is having them—flashbacks back to the night Rocco died," I announced boldly.

Tony cut in furiously—"Don't tell her that! Now I _really _need to talk with her. Give me the phone."

"No! I _don't _want to talk with him," Angelina insisted and then added fearfully, "Does Joe remember everything?"

"Not yet, but it's coming. Why don't you just tell me now, so he can better help Tony and Paul."

Tony interrupted again, trying to change the focus of the conversation. "Ask her if she still loves me? Ask her if she can forgive me. Tell her I'm going to make it up to her—I swear!"

Angelina sighed. "Tell Tony to save his breath. And as for Joe—the best thing he could do would be to forget everything all over again. The truth isn't going to help fix a damned thing. It'll only cause more trouble."

"I disagree. I've personally learned that truth can be the greatest healer of all."

"Well in this case, you're wrong. Listen, I have to go. I'm in the car backing out of their driveway. As far as I know, the girl is still in there, but I'd hurry if I were you."

"Wait—" I cried, completely panicked, "Please—just wait until I can get someone there."

"Hopefully I'll see you around someday, Steph," she continued. "Good luck with the baby—"

She didn't even know about the twins. Suddenly, I was not only tired—but depressed too.

"Angie, please stop. Can I at least call you when Tony and Paul have been found?"

"Found? You've already _found _Tony," she snorted sarcastically. "And where one of them is—the other is sure to be as well. I swear those two are like Siamese twins."

"Angie—"

"Tell Tony I love him," she whispered almost as an afterthought before disconnecting.

I stood there in stunned disbelief, trying to comprehend this latest turn of events—the most pressing of which was the fact that Jessie was at Paul's house—now! I needed to get a hold of Joe and Ranger.

"Would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on?" Mary Lou ordered, one hand on her hip, the other still holding my hairbrush. "Shouldn't we be calling for help? I mean here he is—your number one fugitive, right?"

Tony and I exchanged a glance, and I could tell he was contemplating making a run for it.

"Don't do it, Tony," I warned tensely. "I've got to call Joe immediately about Jessie, and then _you _need to start talking."

"No—_you _need to get to Joe and tell him to stop pushing. Let Paul get this straightened out."

"How! And where the hell _is_ Paul?" I challenged, waving my arms in frustration.

"He's at a meeting—"

"With whom?"

"I can't tell you. You have to trust us, Steph."

"That goes both ways. You need to trust me. Better yet—trust your brother Joe—the COP, remember?"

"Steph, you need to call Joe now," Mary Lou insisted, giving Tony a dirty look. "Don't _you _go getting into trouble by not turning in a fugitive."

She was right. I needed help—immediately. I turned my head to acknowledge her advice, and in that instant Tony dove off the side of the drop-off.

Mary Lou screamed and grabbed hold of my arm, as I instinctively bent forward to try and stop Tony's forward motion.

"Omigod—have you lost your friggin mind!" she yelled into my face. "You're pregnant, Stephanie. Get your ass away from that drop-off!"

"No!" I fought against her, inching as far as I dared go to peek over the edge. _My God, had Tony just committed unintentional suicide? _"Wait—there he is!" I pointed, watching as my brother-in-law limped off down a barely perceptible path through the swamp, dragging his right leg behind him.

"He's injured," Mary Lou spoke in a slightly less hysterical tone. "Call Joe right now!"

I'd dropped my phone in our scuffle and bent to pick it up, punching Joe's speed dial with a shaky finger. We both took off toward the front of the house and my SUV.

"Are you all right?" Mare questioned concernedly. "When I came around the corner of the house and saw him there with you—"

"You went crazy," I smiled, listening to Joe's phone ring in my ear. "Thanks, by the way."

Her eyes were huge as we climbed back into my vehicle. "What is going on, Steph? This is crazy!"

"Welcome to my life," I joked weakly, still listening to the ringing in my ear.

Joe's phone went to voice mail.

"Damn it!" I cursed in frustration before leaving a message.

"Joe—I'm at Lil Conroy's house. Tony was here. I think he and Paul have been hiding in the swamp behind her house, but he just took off again—dove right over the edge of the drop-off. I think he's injured. Anyway, Angelina called. She was just at Paul's house and found Jessie sleeping. She refused to stay. I'm going to try Ranger and Lula, and then Mare and I will drive over as well. Call me!"

Disconnecting, I immediately dialed Ranger's line. Aargh—his went to voice mail too! Leaving the same message, I tried Lula's phone—busy! Was the whole world against me right now? I left yet another message and tossed the phone back into my bag in frustration. Catching a glimpse at Brian Stampler's personnel file, I knew I needed to make time to look at it as well. _Sigh. _I was getting more tired by the minute.

Mary Lou was driving like a mad woman, still upset over our encounter with Tony. In some part of my brain, I could relate, but the better part of it was busy thinking about what to do.

"Shouldn't you call 911?" she asked, pushing down even harder on the accelerator.

I bit my lip. _Yes. _"I don't want to do that. If Jessie catches wind of the cops, she's going to bolt."

"Who _IS _Jessie?" Mary Lou rolled her eyes. "I'm a little late joining the party, you know!"

"Brian Stampler's sister, who is—" I shook my head. "Never mind—we don't have time right now. Just drive me to Paul's house. We're going to have to go in and get Jessie ourselves."

"What!"

I could tell Mary Lou was feeling like a fish out of water. This little adventure of ours was a far cry from PTA meetings and soccer practices. Not even our early spying adventures over at Joe's house could've prepared her for this.

"But—" she floundered.

"You have to trust me!" I flung back at her, forcing myself to remain alert. "Let's go. Let's go. Let's go!"

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"You heard from Bobby yet?" I asked Lester in an undertone.

We were standing in a corner of the warehouse basement watching Morelli and his team members go through the crime scene inch by inch. The place was crawling with cops, and I couldn't help but think it was good Lula was waiting outside. No sense in giving her hives on top of her newly acquired phobia of stairs.

Lester glanced down at his phone. "Nah—cell reception is crap down here. I'll go up top and see if I can track him down."

"I'll go with you. I should check on my apprentice anyway," I said, rolling my eyes. "Who knows what kind of trouble she's gotten into without me?"

Lester tried to hide a smile without success.

"Don't start," I warned, and he quickly lost the smirk as we moved toward the stairwell. Putting a hand on his arm, I gave a subtle nod toward where Morelli was conferring with his boss. Rogers had shown up with the rest of the team fifteen minutes ago. "Let me just talk to him for a minute, and I'll be right up."

I waited until Morelli looked in my direction before giving him the high sign. He nodded and turned back to say something to Rogers and two of his other coworkers before walking over to where I stood. He looked worn out—almost defeated—along with some other unidentifiable emotion beneath the surface. Despite every instinct reminding me he was the greatest thorn in my side, I couldn't help but feel for the guy. It was looking worse and worse for his brothers—whether they were truly guilty or not.

"Cell service is worthless down here," I informed him. "Lester and I are going up to see if Bobby has made contact. Hopefully he still has a read on Bulldog—maybe Paul too."

Morelli ran a hand through his hair and looked down at his shoes intently. "I can't imagine what the fuck Paul was doing here, but whatever it was doesn't look good."

"We need to find _both _your brothers and Bulldog immediately," I confirmed.

He let out a sigh. "I know. It'll take hours—if not days—to sort through all this shit down here. I've given as much responsibility as I can to Rodriguez and Davis, but I just told Rogers we need more manpower."

I stole a quick peek at his boss, who was harping on some other poor schmuck now. "Is he giving you shit?"

His eyes followed my line of sight. "Not in front of everyone else. He's learning not to thwart my leadership with the team on-site. But I'm sure there'll be hell to pay later."

Morelli seemed to weigh something over in his mind for several long beats. Finally, he looked me in the eye and tried to ask casually. "I haven't heard anything from Steph all day. Have you?"

Observing his face more closely, I realized the unidentifiable emotion I'd noticed earlier was anxiety. In the midst of death, drugs and fear for his brothers' future, the guy was more worried about his wife than anything else.

As well he should be. If he hadn't been so foolishly stubborn last week when he'd destroyed the tracking device used to monitor Stephanie, she'd still be under Rangeman surveillance and my protection.

Idiot.

"I just can't shake this feeling that something's wrong, I should never have told you to stop tracking her," he confessed with self-reproach, shaking his head.

I couldn't believe he'd actually admitted it, which told me a lot both about both his mental state as well as his love for her. The latter caused my gut to clench, but perhaps not quite as much as if the same words had been spoken earlier in the week.

"Like I said, cell service sucks underground. I'll go up and see if I can track her down as well."

"I appreciate it," he acknowledged, and I could tell it was paining him to ask me. For that, I decided not to give him shit about the surveillance—or lack thereof—at least not yet.

Maneuvering my way upstairs and through the corridors of the warehouse, I had to slip my sunglasses on once I stepped outside the building and into the light. The wind had kicked up considerably, and it felt as though the temperature had dropped as well.

I found Lula leaning against the hood of the Turbo, talking on her cell phone with her back to me.

"And you should see all the stuff I've been havin' to teach him, Connie….huh?...Well hell, stuff like how important it is to eat every few hours to keep up your strength, and about lookin' good while you do your job….Girl, I _know_ he always looks good…this _is _Batman we're talking about, right?...Still, he's got a lot to learn…and I'm just the woman to teach him…"

She looked up and saw me standing beside her. "Oops! Damn, look at the time—gotta go. Later." She quickly disconnected and, despite wearing sunglasses, gazed up at me sheepishly.

I raised an eyebrow. "How's Connie?"

I think Lula might've blushed, but it was hard to tell.

"Fine. What's happenin' down there?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Morelli's got his hands full is what's going on." I gave her a look. "He probably could use your _expertise_ down there, considering you're so good at teaching people stuff."

If possible, she got even redder. She'd just opened her mouth to give me what I'm sure was some sort of lame ass reply when suddenly she whipped off her shades and stared over my shoulder.

"What?" I asked, my senses instinctively going on alert in response to the intense look on her face.

"Isn't that?" she wondered to herself, her voice trailing off in thought.

"Isn't that _who_—what?"

I started to turn my head in the direction of her gaze, but before I could even complete the motion, she'd already pushed past me and took off running.

And I mean running.

Her cap flew off her head, leaving wiry tufts of hair sticking out like porcupine quills, and, just like the other day, rhinestones began popping off her jacket. I had no idea the woman could move that fast. It was as though someone had dangled a box of jelly donuts in front of her face like a rabbit to a greyhound in one of those questionable dog races.

Halfway down the block, there was a small area of patchy grass and dirt where people took their dogs to do their business. Leaning up against a lone tree in the makeshift park was a man of average height and weight, wearing a ball cap low over his eyes, blue jeans, running shoes and a down vest over a flannel shirt. His head was buried in a newspaper.

Lula barreled straight toward him_, _her arms and legs chugging like an old-fashioned steam engine. How she managed not to topple over was a mystery, given the top heaviness of her body, but she continued to pound the pavement with those black combat boots of hers, never stopping to look back.

_What the hell was she doing?_

Without conscious thought, I began to jog after her. I was afraid she'd kill herself from overexertion.

"Lula!" I called out in concern.

Hearing my shout, the man leaning against the tree glanced up from his newspaper to see Lula zeroing in on him. Instantly, he pushed away from the tree to run. It was too late though. Lula had already launched herself into the air. She came down on top of him like a compacter comes down on an old car in a junkyard.

_Holy Hell!_ The guy had likely just been crushed to death from the sheer force of her tackle.

I burst into a sprint, reaching the scene within seconds to find Lula lying directly on top of her prey and breathing heavily. Whatever gel she'd used to keep her hair in place was oozing down her face, along with rivers of sweat, but she looked positively triumphant.

"Lula! What the fuck do you think you're doing," I yelled forcefully, dragging her off the man to see if he was still breathing.

"It's Stampler!" she managed to shout victoriously, while pumping her fist awkwardly into the air.

_What? _"How do you know?"

"I can spot a cop from a mile away," she grunted. "Besides, he matches the description from the photo in the car."

I hoped to hell she was right; otherwise, she'd just killed an innocent bystander.

I finally succeeded in completely moving her off of the guy. Slowly turning his body to the side, I saw immediately she was right. It _was_ a dazed—but thankfully still very much alive—Detective Brian Stampler. _Unbelievable._

"Let me go!" the cop moaned, still stunned from his collision with Lula.

"I don't believe it," I muttered to myself.

She'd done it. Lula had actually captured one of the men on our most-wanted list—and she'd done it by herself.

"Who are you?" Stampler demanded weakly, still recovering from having the wind knocked out him.

Jerking him to his feet, I put my mouth next to his ear. "Doesn't matter who we are, Stampler."

He blanched at the use of his name. "How do you know me? Never mind, it doesn't matter. I'm a cop with the Newark Police Department. You're both about to be arrested for assaulting a police officer. I think this fat chick broke my ribs."

Lula had gotten to her feet, but was still bent at the waist breathing heavily. Upon hearing the words 'fat chick', she stood up the rest of the way and proudly thrust out her chest.

"I'll have you know this beautiful, full-figured woman just took out your sorry ass."

I couldn't help but give her a full-on Carlos Manoso grin. "You sure as hell did. Nice work, rookie."

Her smile was so bright; it could've lit a darkened stadium by itself.

"Thanks Boss Man," she acknowledged with a weary tip of the head. She looked positively whipped.

"Let me go!" Stampler struggled uselessly against the grip I had on his arm. I didn't dare cuff him given the fact I had no legal right to restrain him.

"Let's get him over to Morelli," I instructed Lula. To Stampler, I added, "I hope to God you have good answers, Detective, because your ass is about to fry."

"Fuck you!" he spat. "_Your_ ass is about to go to jail."

"Oh, I'm shaking. How about you, Lula," I rolled my eyes. She was still so winded; she didn't even respond.

Between the two of us, we half walked/half-dragged Stampler back over to the warehouse where I could barely make out Bobby and Lester both waiting for us by the Turbo.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"Stop here!" I commanded, throwing out a hand to brace myself against the dashboard.

Mary Lou swerved my SUV over to the curb halfway down the block from Paul and Adrienne's house and threw the gear into park. We'd made the drive from Lil's place in record time, thanks to Mary Lou's mad driving skills, but during that time, we'd heard nothing from Joe, Ranger or Lula. _Why the hell was no one calling me back?_

"Which one is it?" she asked nervously.

"The blue two-story," I pointed out.

"How are we going to get in?"

"I still have the key from when I was here a couple of days ago. We're just going to walk right in."

"Oh Shit—Oh Shit—Okay," she whispered, nodding her head. "This isn't quite like spying on Morelli outside his house, Steph. You know that?"

I realized my best friend was truly scared, and it hit me just how different our lives had been during the past three years. She probably wanted nothing more than to go home and pick up her kids from school, and yet here she was helping me. She was the best friend a girl could have.

But it made me ask, "When do you have to get the boys from school?"

"Three-thirty," she replied, glancing at her watch. "It's only two o'clock now, but let's hurry. I want _both _of us to go home. I'm worried about you, Steph. You're pregnant—"

_Like I could forget? _"I know," I assured her. "I'll be careful, but someone has to get Jessie, and seeing as no one is taking my calls—"

"Fine. Let's just do this," Mare interrupted, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

We climbed out of the SUV and made our way down the block and up the walkway to Paul's house.

"You go around to the back," I instructed in a whisper. "Make sure she doesn't try to escape. As soon as I'm in, I'll get you, and we'll head upstairs."

She nodded, and, without a word, headed around the back of the house. Taking a look around me for nosy neighbors, I found the house key on my key ring and slowly inserted it into the lock. I carefully eased it to the right and opened the door, listening closely for any sounds. There was nothing but silence.

Quickly letting Mary Lou in, we stealthily made our way up the stairs to the master bedroom. Sure enough, there was a teenage girl sprawled in the middle of the queen-sized bed sound asleep. She didn't look well at all. Her long, stringy brown hair was pushed back from a grossly pale face. Her wrinkled shirt and ripped blue jeans fairly hung on her tall frame. She appeared strung out and emaciated, almost unrecognizable from the girl who'd waited on Joe and me at the BBQ joint back in September.

Wishing I had a pair of handcuffs, I prayed that Mary Lou and I would be able to convince her not to run when she awakened. Otherwise, we were in serious trouble. I took a deep breath and stepped closer to the bed, noticing that she slept with her backpack right beside her. _Oh, how I wanted to get my hands on THAT thing._

Sitting down gently onto the bed, it apparently wasn't gently enough. Jessie's eyes popped open and immediately she was trying to scramble off the bed, her eyes wide and frightened.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed, slapping wildly at Mary Lou and I as we both worked to restrain her arms. "Let me go—let me go!"

"Jessie, calm down—we are _not _going to hurt you," I said loudly over her shouts. "Jessie!"

"I'm sorry about your husband, lady. Honest to God, I am. I didn't know he was married!"

She thought I was Adrienne.

Looking helplessly at Mary Lou, she scooted further up the bed and placed an arm around Jessie's shoulders. "Shhhh…it's okay, Jessie," Mare soothed. "I promise you we're not here to hurt you."

"Or call the police," I hastily added. "Neither of us is Paul's wife."

She stopped struggling, but continued to look at us suspiciously. "Then who the hell _are _you?"

"I'm Stephanie Morelli, and this is Mary Lou Stankovic," I replied. At the mention of Morelli, she shrank back against the pillow.

"My husband Joe is Paul's brother," I hastened to explain. "He's a cop here in Trenton, and we've been going crazy with worry this past week over both Paul and their other brother Tony. I know you've met him as well."

Now that she knew we weren't going to kill her, she decided to clam up, refusing to even look either of us.

"Listen to me, Jessie," I urged. "We are _not_ your enemies—I swear to you. We want to help you. We're here to get you to a safe place until this whole mess is figured out."

No response.

"I actually don't have the faintest idea of what's going on around here," Mary Lou offered, using self-effacing humor to try and break the ice, "but I do know Stephanie. If she says you can trust her—you can trust her."

Still nothing.

"It was incredibly brave of you to come all this way from Newark," I tried again, and then after a rather lengthy pause, added, "Why _did _you come to Trenton?"

She shook her head, clearly afraid.

"Jessie, please—" I begged, "Time is running out for a lot of people. If you know something—like why you came to Trenton—"

"I need to find Paul," she whispered.

She'd spoken. _Thank you, God. _

"Why's that?" I asked carefully.

She shook her head again and went silent. _Damn it!_

"I can take you to Paul," I offered out of the blue. Mary Lou rolled her eyes from her position behind Jessie to let me know she thought I was crazy, which I probably was. I had no idea where Paul was.

"You can?" she asked, turning eyes that had already seen too much in her short life in my direction.

"Yes."

"That's wonderful, Mrs. Morelli," came a vaguely familiar and completely unwelcome voice from behind me. "Then you can take me along as well."

Mary Lou's eyes went wide with fright. Turning my head, I found myself locking gazes with Bruce Jackson, AKA Bulldog. He was standing in the doorway, holding a 45 Magnum and looking like the cat that'd swallowed the canary.

"Bulldog," I spoke under my breath.

"Uncle Bruce!" Jessie shuddered uncomfortably by my side.

_Uncle Bruce!_

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"Damn, Lula!" Lester exclaimed upon our arrival back at the warehouse. "That was amazing. Bobby and I saw the whole thing. Wait till Tank hears about this."

Before she could respond, I nailed him with a cool stare. "Seeing as you saw the whole thing, it might've been nice if you'd given us a hand."

Lester merely grinned and winked at Lula. "Nah—the Lulanator here had it all under control."

My protégée somehow managed to thrust her already significant chest out even further with pride. _Wonderful. _That's all I needed was for her ego to swell.

"Before your head gets too far in the clouds, there's a lot you did wrong on that take-down," I said gruffly, ignoring her crestfallen face at my criticism. Then turning toward Lester and Bobby, I added, "Lester, get your head out of your ass and go find Morelli for me. Bobby, help me hold this loser down while we wait."

Lester hightailed it into the warehouse, while Bobby took over for Lula, who gratefully leaned up against the Turbo to recover further from her five hundred yard dash. Bobby immediately looked at me for a sign as to whether he should report on Bulldog or not. I gave him a slight shake of the head, inclining it toward Stampler, who had gone silent on us minutes ago. No doubt he was watching for his chance to escape.

Within minutes, Lester was back with Morelli, Rogers and the two detectives Morelli had said were also working the case—Rodriguez and Davis. Stampler's stance immediately went aggressive upon sight of Morelli.

"Listen, Morelli—I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing, but—"

"You can let him go," Morelli interrupted calmly—almost too calmly. Our eyes met briefly, but he seemed determined.

Bobby and I released Stampler, who stumbled slightly before righting himself. "I demand to know what's going on here!" he barked at all of us. "I'm an off-duty cop, minding my own business, when this lunatic lard-assed bitch mows me down like a steam roller."

He clutched his side and shot a fierce look at Lula, who'd slunk further into the background once all the cops started appearing. "I need medical attention, and then I'm going to see that both of these civilians are arrested for assaulting a police officer."

Rogers stepped forward beside Joe. "Detective, I think I'd calm down if I were you. I'm tempted to put _you _under arrest—"

"For what?" Stampler broke in heatedly. "Reading a newspaper!"

"How about the first degree murder of Louis Nagel," Rogers shot back smoothly. Both he and Morelli were playing it smooth. Given their hot-blooded temperaments—Morelli's especially—I was surprised at how civil everyone was being.

Stampler's mouth dropped about a foot. "What in the hell are you talking about? For that matter—_whom _the hell are you talking about? I don't know anyone named Nagel."

Morelli shook his head. "Now that was really dumb, Brian. Did you honestly think you could get away with pretending you don't know who Louie Nagel is? _Everybody _in Newark is aware of the number one drug dealer in your city. I should think a NPD _Vice _Detective would certainly know—"

"Of course I know _of _Nagel," Stampler quickly backtracked. "What I meant is I don't personally _know_ _him_."

"See now that's strike two," Morelli's brown eyes glittered dangerously. Despite our rivalry, I'd always appreciated his abilities as a cop. He was damned good, although I was still surprised by the level of self-control he was exhibiting. "I happen to know you've personally visited Nagel's house on more than one occasion, demanding that he stop selling drugs to your sister Jessica."

Stampler's eyes went flat and cold. "I have no idea what you're talking about. My sister doesn't do drugs."

"And _that _was strike three," Rogers declared before Morelli could respond. "You're making some foolish choices here, Detective. Clearly it's time we all sat down and had a nice long talk at the precinct about your recent activities." He raised his hand when Stampler opened his mouth to argue. "And just to make it all nice and Kosher, I think I'll invite your boss to join us as well."

"Am I being arrested?" he questioned defiantly.

"Not unless you want to be," Rogers offered sarcastically. "I'm willing for it to remain a friendly discussion for now. Of course if you feel you should have an attorney present, I'd be happy to Miranda you."

Ignoring Rogers, Stampler honed in on Morelli. "This is all your doing, isn't it, Morelli." He spoke his name like a curse. "And it shouldn't be a surprise. Ever the renegade, eh? You were always causing trouble in the academy as well. Smart ass."

Morelli stepped forward and got into his face. "I'm even worse now, Brian. I'm not only a smart ass, but I'm just plain smart too—damned smart. I'm going to bury your ass for what you did to my brother."

"You have a brother?" he spoke lazily. "You mean there are more losers in the Morelli family than just you?"

Morelli shrugged "Pretend all you want. I've got the evidence—with more coming all the time. And if I were you I'd be shitting in my shoes over the fact that I've got four more dead bodies lying in that warehouse behind me. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that either, I suppose—huh."

Something subtle shifted in Stampler's eyes. I'm not sure how many caught it. But I did, and so did Morelli.

"Did you kill them too, Brian?" Morelli's voice was low and raspy.

"I don't know what you're—"

"How about Myra Flowers? Did you kill her?"

Another eye flash—only this one stronger. One side of his lip curled, and he said carelessly, "Maybe it was this brother you're so worried about that killed them all."

One second Morelli and Stampler were nose-to-nose, and the next Morelli simply detonated. Grabbing hold of Stampler's down jacket, he lifted him clear off the ground.

"I'm finished, you fucking little prick. You hear me?"

"Detective!" Rogers barked, immediately reaching out to Joe's shoulder.

"No!" Morelli shifted out of the way. Shooting daggers at Stampler, he roared, "Tell me what was in the file marked "Morelli" in your office. Is that the second set of evidence against Meachum? Does it prove Paul's innocence in there?"

"Who is Meachum? Better yet—who is Paul?"

Morelli pulled back his arm and let it loose right into Stampler's face, who flew backward and landed on the ground. _Oh shit. _The self-control was gone—obliterated by weeks of worry and stress.

Rogers went ballistic. "Detective Morelli!" He looked at Rodriguez and Davis. "Get a hold of your Supervisor—NOW!"

Lester, Bobby and I exchanged glances. This wasn't our fight, but God, as much as I hated to admit it, my gut sympathized with Morelli. I'd be ready to explode by now as well. Lula was now cowering at the back of the Turbo, trying to see the fight while eating a cookie she'd pilfered at lunch.

"Joe, come on," Rodriguez offered half-heartedly, obviously not wanting to interfere with a fellow cop's fight. He reached out a hand to help up Stampler. "Let's take this down to the precinct."

Morelli ignored them all.

Stampler disregarded the hand Rodriguez had out there and rose unsteadily to his feet. But no sooner was he standing than he charged toward Morelli, who was ready for him and round two. Rodriguez made a grab for Stampler. I could see that Davis was standing there like an awestruck kid, watching his idol Morelli. He was useless.

Rolling my eyes, I jumped forward and put my left hand over Morelli's mouth, my right around his neck and jerked him backward.

"Knock it off, Morelli," I warned threateningly near his ear. "Don't do or say anything more you're going to regret!"

I wasn't sure if it was my words or my actions, but he suddenly became like a madman in my arms—clawing and digging at the hold I had around him.

I tightened my arm around his neck.

"Knock it off!" I screamed into his ear.

With the force of ten men, he knifed his arm backward, driving his elbow into my stomach.

"_NO DADDY!"_ he screamed, knocking _me _backward about three feet.

_What the fuck! Daddy?_

Instead of charging back toward Stampler, he dropped to his knees and clutched his head, covering his eyes with his hands.

"Oh Jesus! Oh fuck!" he cried out, almost as if _he _were in pain. It was the cry of an injured animal.

Or, worse yet—a hurting soul.


	16. Chapter 16

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Wow! Thanks so much for the amazing feedback on the last chapter. It is all so very much appreciated. There are a few more people who've joined the journey, so a warm welcome to anyone who has just found this story.

Fabulous Beta Reader, Julie...thanks for having such amazing intuition on what works and doesn't work. Your feedback was critical to this chapter. I appreciate you in infinite ways, my Christmas Card Exchanging Friend. ;-)

We're not done, my friends. But it's about to get ugly. I'm letting you know in advance that the first part of this chapter contains physical abuse if there are those who are squeamish.

Here we go...

* * *

****Chapter Sixteen

**September 10, 1985**

_His voice was deadly cold. "What've you got there, boy."_

_Seeing the knife in my hand, he made a swipe for it._

"_Give it here, son."_

_Still turned away, I struggled to get it open. Oh please, Jesus—please let me open it in time, for there was no doubt in my mind, he'd kill me if he could. I'd never escape the monster._

"_Give. Me. The. Knife!" he ordered, grabbing a hold of my arm._

"_Help!" I managed to scream before the hand holding my arm slid upward to cover my mouth. His free arm wrapped around my neck and began to squeeze._

"_Drop it, Joseph."_

_SWISH!_

_The blade popped open. The flash of metal barely registered through the pain-induced fog of my brain._

"_Drop it, Joseph," he warned again threateningly._

_The arm around my neck tightened behind me, just as I managed to turn the knife around, so that it was pointing directly toward the monster._

"_Drop it!" he screamed in my ear._

_My arm thrust backward just as his squeezed tighter._

_The sound of a banshee cry rang out through the room. Was it MY voice? My father's?_

"_Get the fuck off him!" It was Tony's voice—vicious and feral. _

_And then I was free, stumbling to the floor in a heap as Tony's body collided into us from behind._

"_He stabbed me," my father sounded almost bewildered as he spoke to no one in particular. "Shit."_

_My hands instinctively went to my throat, trying to rub away the feel of the monster's hands while gasping for air at the same time. I needed to turn around to see what I'd done, but I couldn't seem to get enough air into my lungs._

"_Don't you EVER touch him again, you understand me, old man?" _

_Tony must have caught him off-guard, because the next thing I heard was my father's body crashing hard into the workbench that held his tools. Man, I NEEDED to turn around, but every muscle in my body was protesting my every move. The pain was all consuming. Blood trickled out of my mouth, and I marveled at the salty taste of it on my tongue. That was MY blood? My brain felt fuzzy and funny like I was there one minute and somewhere else the next._

"_Did you hear me?" the monster yelled. "I said the little fucker stabbed me. I'm gonna kill him for that." _

_More movement, and then—_

"_Aahhh!" I cried out, as someone landed on top of me, fists pummeling my body in rapid succession. _

_It was the monster. _

"_No, Daddy—please no!" I begged, gasping and coughing. Darkness was calling me._

_And then Tony was on top of HIM, trying to tear his hulking body off of mine. The additional weight crushed my already bruised ribs hard against the concrete of the garage floor. Oh God—Oh God—the pain was wicked. Someone—please—help me!_

"_Get off him!" Tony screamed. He was pushing hard against my father to no avail. Tony was strong, but no one was as big and mean as the monster. "You want a fight, you fucking bastard? Then you take me on!"_

_More scuffling. My father must have shoved Tony away, because it was Tony's voice that cried out when his body hit the side of the garage. _

"_Get out of here, Anthony. Get the hell out of here before I teach your ass a lesson too—you goddamned worthless piece of shit. You and Paulie have turned Joseph into some kind of sissy boy. But no more! Today he finds out what it's like to be a man. I AM HIS FATHER—not you."_

"_His father? You're nothing but a drunk—a bum—a bully. And he's nothing but a kid!" Tony shouted, once more leaping onto my father's back and pressing my ribcage further into the floor._

_I was beyond crying out any longer. The pain was too massive._

"_He—he needs to be taught a lesson," my father repeated, his own voice catching in pain from my having stabbed him with the knife._

"_Come on. Come on. Show ME the goddamned lesson, ROCCO. Why waste your time on him? He's nothing but a shitty little kid, right? Not even worth wasting a good drunk over. It's me you fucking hate—and I HATE you too. Come on!"_

_SMACK!_

_Another crash and Tony cried out louder than the first time. _

_All the weight was finally off of me, and I struggled to draw in another breath. If only I could turn to see what was happening…_

"_Don't you fucking talk to me like that, Anthony. I am your FATHER. I'll make you wish you'd never been born."_

"_I ALREADY wish that because of YOU—you worthless, drunken shit of a man," Tony raged from the other side of the room. I could hear the pain in his voice now. "Get the fuck out of here, so I can help Joey. Christ Jesus, you've about killed him!"_

"_He needed to be taught a lesson," my father replied in a deadly calm voice. "And I ain't finished yet. You want to watch? I'm going to teach you both something you'll never forget." He added with a sneer, "You're weak, Tony. You're weak—and nothing but a loser."_

_S-l-o-w-l-y—in painstaking increments—I'd managed to inch my body around during their argument, almost blacking out from the pain that had enveloped my whole body. Turning my head slightly, I was just in time to see my father howl in pain as he pulled out the knife that'd been stuck in his thigh. A river of blood began to pour down his leg. It was the same blood pouring out of my mouth. _

_It was the same blood. _

_WE had the same blood._

_The monster turned toward me, knife in hand, and I saw my own death in his eyes. He lunged forward—_

_Tony dove for the knife at the same time, and I closed my eyes at the pain about to devour me—_

"_I AM NOT A LOSER!" Tony's voice bellowed, the sound seeming to pour out from every part of his body._

_THREE cries echoed throughout the garage._

_And then there was nothing but silence._

_It was several minutes before we heard, "Rocco? Joseph? What's going on out there?"_

_My mother's worried voice got louder as she approached the garage. I still hadn't opened my eyes—too frightened of the monster to see what had happened._

_A moment later the most terrifying scream I'd ever heard pierced the neighborhood._

"_Oh my God! Oh my God!" She was in the garage now. "Anthony? Oh God—what have you done? Rocco! Rocco, can you hear me?" Her breath caught, and her voice softened. Oh sweet Jesus—my Joseph! NOT my Joseph—Oh God!"_

_There was no answer from any of us._

_Finally, I got up the courage to open my eyes and found my mother hunched over me, tears streaming down her face. I couldn't even speak. Instead my gaze was drawn to where my father lay slumped on his side. The knife I'd thought he'd pulled out of his leg was now sticking out of his chest. How had that happened? Had I been mistaken? Had I really put the knife in his chest instead of his leg? I was so confused, and the pain was overpowering me._

"_Paulie!" my mother screeched at the top of her lungs. "Paulie, come quick!"_

_Tony sat with his back against the wall staring at my father. His eyes never moved from the knife and the blood still oozing out of the monster._

"_Paulie!"_

_The sound of pounding footsteps filled the air._

"_Jeez, what is it, Ma?_ _I said I was sorry for being late. It's my birthday. Why you makin' me do everything," his voice complained as it came closer and closer to the door. "Get Tony to—"_

_My sisters must've decided to follow him for suddenly they started screaming like Ma had._

"_Don't let them in here!" my mother shrieked. "Go call 911—now!"_

"_What the fuck happened?" Paul's voice was dazed._

"_Ma! What's happened to Daddy! Omigod—Joey!" The girls were hysterical._

"_Paul—get—them—out—of—here and call 911!"_

"_Is he alive?"_

"_Paul!"_

"_I'm going! Come on girls. No, Cathy—stop—"_

"_Ma—" She tried to move past Paul to get to our mother._

"_Catherine—no! You go with your brother—right now. Mary—you too."_

"_But—"_

"_NOW!"_

_The footsteps retreated faster than they'd come._

"_Anthony—I need you. Help Joseph, while I see to your father."_

_Silence._

"_Anthony!" she hollered, scuttling across the room to shake him. "Snap out of it! I NEED your help!"_

"_I didn't mean to—" he breathed shakily._

_She slapped him hard across the face. "Stop. Wake up and help me. Oh God—someone please help me." She began to recite the rosary in Italian, already rolling my father onto his back and searching for his heartbeat._

_I don't know what she thought she was going to find._

_The monster had no heart._

_I groaned involuntarily, and that seemed to break Tony from his stupor. He dragged himself across the floor to my side. "Hey buddy, I'm here," he said softly. "It's okay. It's going to be okay—I promise."_

"_The monster—"_

"_There's no monster, Joey. The monster isn't going to hurt you."_

"_I stabbed—" I could barely get the words out past my split lip._

"_You didn't do ANYTHING," he responded so forcefully I cringed in fear. Lowering his voice, he put a palm to my cheek. "It's okay, buddy. I swear I'll make it all okay."_

"_Rocco! Don't you dare die, Rocco Morelli!" my mother pleaded desperately over my father's body. "Please God—oh please."_

_The sound of sirens could be heard wailing in the distance. In some remote part of my mind, I wondered if Stephanie Plum would come out to see the emergency trucks and cars as they sped past her house. That'd be something a girl like her would want to see. She'd probably stand there with that stupid beach towel wrapped around her neck. Had it really only been a little while ago that she'd been here in the garage with me? Why had I wanted to see her naked anyway? Now my father was dead, and it was all my fault. Would Stephanie ever want to play with me again?_

"_He's gone," my mother announced, weeping loudly._

_Neither Tony nor I were weeping._

"_Ma, they're coming," Paulie called from across the yard. "The ambulance is almost here, Ma!"_

_My mother reached for the knife, still sticking out of my father's chest._

"_Ma—what are you doing?" Tony demanded anxiously, still at my side._

"_Hush!" she ordered and began to rub her hands up and down the blade._

"_Ma—don't!"_

_She moved across the room and grasped Tony by the shoulders. "You LISTEN to me, Anthony Morelli. You are to tell them that I was the one who stabbed your father. You hear me? I did it—not you."_

"_But it was ME," I offered in a hoarse voice, looking up at them both._

"_No, Joey—it was me," Tony said seriously. "I killed him."_

"_No!" Ma's voice sounded choked. "No—BOTH of you. Neither of you say a word. You MUST obey me. Understand?"_

"_Ma, I can't let you—"_

"_Anthony!"_

"_Sheee-it-ahhh," Tony cursed before turning back to hold my hand._

_I must've fallen asleep for a minute or something, because the next thing I knew there were people in uniform everywhere. Two paramedics were bent over me, trying to examine my body._

"_AH!" I cried out, whimpering at the pain every one of their simple actions caused. _

"_We need to get him to St. Francis," one of the paramedics said to the entire room. "He has at least four broken ribs, and some of these whip marks are ripe for infection."_

"_What the fuck do you suppose happened," his partner asked quietly._

"_Hell if I know," he muttered back, "but somebody beat the shit out of this poor kid."_

_It was the monster. His claws were vicious, and he could burn you with his eyes._

"_Well, let's wrap some of the worst abrasions in gauze before we try to transport him. No matter what we do it's going to hurt him like hell."_

"_Tell me again what happened, Mrs. Morelli—from the beginning," yet another voice sounded from across the room. He sounded serious, which meant he must be a cop. Cops were always serious and tough. I bet they weren't afraid of monsters._

"_I've already told you what happened." Ma sounded weary. "Three times, officer."_

_Tony was leaning against the wall nearby, looking sullen and kind of scared too. I could barely make out both him and Ma through the slits in my eyes. It was so hard to keep them open. I just wanted to sleep. Maybe if I did, I'd wake up and the nightmare would be over._

"_Tell me again," the officer insisted quietly._

"_I came home to find Rocco assaulting Joseph. He'd been drinking, and you officers know that isn't unusual for him. He was out of control. He had the knife and was about to use it on Joseph. Somehow I managed to get it away from him and plunged it into his chest."_

_The officer looked at Tony. "Is that how you saw it too?"_

_Tony stared down at his shoes, saying nothing._

"_Your name's Anthony, right?" the officer asked. He waited for Tony to nod before continuing. "Anthony, how old are you?"_

"_Nineteen and a half."_

"_So you're an adult."_

"_Yes."_

"_Those are some pretty ugly looking bruises you have there on your face, Anthony. Where'd you get them?"_

_Ma broke in. "He got into a little scuffle with his brother Paulie this afternoon. It's Paul's eighteenth birthday today, and the two of them were foolishly roughhousing. Just brothers being brothers."_

_The officer watched Tony's face. "Is that true, Anthony?"_

_Tony shrugged. "If that's what she says."_

_My mother sucked in her breath._

_The officer glanced over at where another cop stood off to the side taking notes. He was younger and appeared both sad and disgusted by what he was hearing._

_After a brief pause, the first officer addressed Ma. "Mrs. Morelli, do you know the penalty for trying to cover-up a crime."_

"_What are you suggesting?" she went on the offensive. "That I'd lie about my own husband's death? He ATTACKED my eight-year old son, officer! How many times do I have to tell you that? How many times have you boys been out to this house over the years concerning Rocco? Whether it was for his drinking or whoring or abuse of my children, it's been a virtual revolving door for the police to come with their threats and warnings. And did any of it do any good? Look at him!" she shrieked, pointing in my direction. "Look at my baby!"_

"_Ma'am, I was just outside conferring with the officer in charge of taking the statements of your other son and daughters—"_

"_You have NO right to talk to them without my presence. I'm their MOTHER." _

"_They're saying you walked into this garage and immediately began screaming—"_

"_Yes, I was screaming, because I saw what Rocco was doing to Joseph. It—it enraged me. I lost control and—"_

"_Why am I having trouble believing you?"_

"_I don't care what YOU believe. It's the truth," Ma said in her angry voice. _

_No it wasn't—she was lying. WHY was she lying? Ma had always told me never to lie. She always said truth defines reality or something confusing like that. _

_Someone here needed to tell the truth._

_As if he'd heard my brain talking, the older officer—the one talking to my mom—came over and stooped down next to where they were still working on me._

"_Joseph? Can you hear me?"_

_I nodded slowly. Even that slight motion consumed my body with pain._

"_Joseph, you look like a smart boy. And I'm awfully sorry you've been hurt today. We're going to have a doctor fix you up just as good as new—I promise."_

"_Ma?" I whimpered. This big man with the blue uniform was a police officer. I knew that. I knew he was there to help me, but I was scared out of my mind._

"_I'm here, baby," Ma crooned. She moved to step toward me, and the cop above me held out his hand to stop her._

"_Joseph, I know it's hard, but I need for you to tell me the truth about what happened here today. You DO know the difference between the truth and a lie, don't you?"_

"_Yes, sir," I mumbled past my swollen lip._

"_Officer, please—" Ma begged. "Hasn't he been through enough?"_

"_Are you going to tell me the truth, Mrs. Morelli?" he turned and glared at my mother._

"_I AM telling you the truth!" she exploded. "I stabbed my husband with a knife."_

_What was she doing? Ma was the one person I could count on in my life—even more than Tony or Paulie. She shouldn't be lying like this. What if they took her to jail for lying—or worse yet because the monster was dead, and I'd killed him?_

"_No, sir. I did," I blurted out. "I stabbed him."_

_Tony immediately pushed himself off the wall. "They're BOTH wrong. I'm the one who stabbed him."_

"_No! Don't listen to them," Ma panicked, running her hands up and down her arms. "They're confused. Tony came in to help me after I found Joseph. My other son Paul and my girls are confused as well. This is difficult, officers—surely you must understand—"_

_Tony opened his mouth to speak again, and the younger officer—the one doing all the writing—jumped in before he could get the words out. "I think it's time we called in the Chief, Jerry. This has all the makings of a clusterfuck if we don't get some guidance."_

"_Agreed. Call him, will ya?"_

"_Don't bother," Tony stepped closer to the one named Officer Jerry. "I'm telling you, I'm the one who stabbed him. I didn't mean to kill him, but—"_

"_Anthony!" Ma protested, bursting into tears._

"_Mrs. Morelli, do you wish to contact someone to come down here—perhaps an attorney?"_

"_No," Ma shook her head hard. _

_I must've gone asleep again, because the next time I opened my eyes, they had me on a gurney, and there was another man in the garage with us. This guy was BIG—as big as the monster—with bushy gray hair and a huge nose. But his eyes were kind when they looked over and saw me lying there._

_My father was still lying there too. Someone had draped a black sheet over his body, but I still knew he was under there. I was afraid he'd sit up at any moment and try to kill us all._

_No, Tony had said the monster was dead._

_My father was dead._

"_Mrs. Morelli, I'm going to ask for the truth one more time," the big man said. "You and I BOTH know you weren't in this garage when the attack happened. I have three witnesses in your house who swear you came upon the scene afterward."_

"_They're only children, Chief Barlow," Ma argued. "And no one should be talking to them without my consent or presence. Nothing you have is admissible in court, and you know it."_

"_You're right. Technically, we aren't allowed to speak to them without an adult or other legal representative present. But I'm not worried about whether or not we're following the book here, because I have no doubt when we take the knife to the lab we're going to find four sets of prints on it—yours, Mr. Morelli's and your two sons here. How are you going to explain that, Mrs. Morelli?"_

_Ma looked as though she was trying to think of what to say. Why didn't she just tell him the truth?_

_The Chief was getting angry with Ma, and I didn't like it. _

"_We need to get Joseph to a hospital soon. You've already wasted too much time with this nonsense, Mrs. Morelli. Tell ME the truth."_

"_Officer, I'm the one who killed my father," Tony broke in out of the blue. He stood up straight and tall beside Ma. "My mother is trying to protect me, because I'm over eighteen. I'm an adult, and she knows you can convict me for first degree murder if you want."_

"_Anthony—"_

"_Enough, Ma! This bullshit of yours is merely wasting time—time they need to get Joey to a doctor."_

_The man called Chief Barlow stared at Tony. Even his kind eyes had gone scary-looking._

"_Anthony, tell me the truth—all of it. I mean it, son—right now."_

_Tony looked over at me, and I tried to nod. I wanted him to tell the truth._

_He wrapped his hand around his neck and looked briefly at his shoes before meeting the Chief's eyes. "I walked in and found my father with one hand over my brother's mouth and the other around his neck. It was clear he'd been beating Joey before I'd arrived."_

"_Is that unusual?" _

_Tony's eyes flashed. "You know it isn't! Your officers have been out here checking on us for YEARS thanks to the good ears of all our neighbors. But none of you ever did a goddamned thing to stop him, did you?"_

"_Watch it." The big Chief warned softly. "Just tell the story and leave your critiques to yourself."_

_Tony rolled his eyes and began to speak without any emotion. "Joey had the knife in his hand. He stabbed my father in the thigh just as I was calling out for them both to stop."_

_Ma let out a sob._

"_I managed to catch my father off-guard and shoved him into his workbench over there," he pointed at the mess that'd been left behind. "Rocco and I had words and then he attacked Joey again, beating him with his fists. I tried to pull him off, but he shoved me into the wall instead. We fought some more verbally, and then he hit me again. By the time I got back off the floor, he'd pulled the knife from his leg and had turned to use it on Joey—"_

_He paused as his voice began to shake. "He lunged toward my brother. I made a grab for him, and we struggled briefly. I couldn't get the upper hand, so I tripped him. He fell and landed on the knife."_

"_So you're saying it was an accident?" Chief Barlow asked carefully._

"_Yes," Tony responded simply. Ma's face was buried in her hands._

_I still hadn't cried. It hurt too much to cry._

"_Chief, we really need to get this boy to the hospital," one of the paramedics standing beside me spoke up._

"_I realize that, Kopecki." Chief Barlow scratched his head. "Anthony, you have a reputation in the Burg for being somewhat of a rabble rouser yourself—"_

"_I like to have fun," Tony interrupted, never breaking eye contact with the Chief. _

_The big man snorted. "Is that what you call it—fun?"_

"_You'd like to have fun too if you spent half of your life in this garage being tortured by your father," Tony sneered. He turned around and pulled down the back of his jeans, while lifting his shirt at the same time. "Believe me, my kind of fun is WAY more enjoyable than my father's." _

_He revealed the awful purple marks that covered his lower back and bottom, and there wasn't one of those men who didn't gasp. The cop taking the notes turned his head away. His face looked green._

_Would I have scars like those too?_

_My mother was as white as one of the sheets she liked to iron and put on my bed each week. "Chief Barlow—"_

_He turned away from her and walked over to where I was lying on the gurney. "Joseph, my name is Chief Barlow, and I'm sorry you've been hurt."_

_I didn't answer. Despite his kind eyes, I was scared—really scared._

"_Joseph, you know the difference between the truth and a lie, don't you?"_

_Why did they keep asking me that? EVERYONE knows the difference. Jeez!_

"_Yes, sir." I whispered._

"_Is what your brother just finished telling us the truth? Did your father do all of those things to you? Did you stab him with the knife? Did Tony also stab him with the knife?"_

_I swallowed hard. "Yes—except I don't know whether Tony stabbed him or if it was just me. I had my eyes closed." Looking up at him fearfully, I asked, "Do you think I stabbed him in the chest too, sir? It's all so confusing. I hurt too much. Was I wrong? Did I kill my father?"_

"_Joey, NO!" Tony spoke forcefully. "You DID NOT kill Dad."_

_Chief Barlow stood back. "Alright, I want everyone to stay quiet for a minute."_

_I watched the drips from my IV move slowly down the tube and into my arm. I'd never had an IV before. I'd never even been to a hospital. I wondered what they'd do to me there. Would they have to cut me open to make the hurt stop? My stomach started to feel funny. I didn't want to be cut open._

"_Close the door," Chief Barlow ordered the quiet policeman who'd been taking notes throughout all of this. _

_The officer did as instructed. In the garage were Ma, Tony and me, Chief Barlow, Officer Jerry, the cop who took the notes and the paramedic guys who'd been helping me. Everyone else was outside._

"_Now I want you all to listen closely," Chief Barlow spoke quietly and seriously. _

_I was scared again._

"_I don't want to turn this into some sort of three-ring publicity circus. You understand what I'm saying?" His gaze was directed at the two officers and the paramedics._

_He ran a hand over his mouth. "It's true that the TPD has had more than its share of phone calls from neighbors complaining about Rocco Morelli—complaints that he was drunk and disorderly and abusing his wife and children among other things."_

"_You're damned right he did," Tony scoffed. "And what'd you all do? Nothing."_

"_Anthony," Mrs. Morelli chastised._

"_I'd keep your comments to yourself, boy," Chief Barlow spoke right in Tony's face._

_He turned back to the important people in the room. "What we have here, folks, is a tragedy—no matter which way you look at it. It's tragic that Mr. Morelli is dead, and even more tragic his son may or may not have killed him—"_

"_Chief Barlow—" Ma began to plead._

_The Big Man raised his voice to talk right over her. "It's tragic that Mr. Morelli was so demented by alcohol and his own demons that he felt the need to abuse his children. I look at Joseph lying there on that gurney and want to puke my guts out."_

_Silence._

"_It's tragic that Mrs. Morelli was willing to break the law in order to protect her children by falsifying her statement to the police—"_

_Ma let out another sob, and then all was quiet again._

_Chief Barlow looked around the room, and then let out a huge sigh. "And…it's tragic the TPD turned a blind eye on numerous occasions to what was going on in this home. Some of that happened under my watch, boys, and I'm not proud of it."_

_His men watched him closely without expression._

_Sparing a look at Tony, he continued, "I believe Anthony is telling the truth here, and I have no doubt Joseph is." He paused. "Unfortunately though, I still have an obligation to arrest Anthony for the suspected murder of his father—"_

"_NO!" Ma shrieked. "Oh God—no!"_

_NO! _

_Not Tony—not my hero. _

_I didn't want the Big Man to take him away from me, especially since I still wasn't certain that I hadn't been the one to kill the monster._

_Tony looked as though he was going to pass out._

_Chief Barlow went on, "The problem is this nightmare could go either way. A jury could be sympathetic to Anthony's past abuse and choose to allow a claim of self-defense, in which case he could get little to no time, OR they could decide it was a crime of passion BECAUSE of the abuse, and go after him for First Degree Murder."_

_The tears I hadn't been able to shed for my father finally began to fall for my big brother. _

"_Please don't take away Tony!" I managed to get out, crying harder. Man, I hated to cry in front of Tony. He might not think I was tough like him, but I couldn't seem to stop now that I'd started._

_Ma moved to my side. "Joseph, hush. It's okay, baby."_

"_It's all right, Joey," Tony added. "You're so brave, little brother. _

_I forced myself to try and stop. Tony thought I was brave!_

"_It's another tragedy in the making—no question about it," Chief Barlow observed, shaking his head._

_Silence._

_Finally, the officer who'd been taking the notes the whole time broke the silence. He sounded nervous. "Excuse me, sir, but isn't there ANYTHING that can be done? It doesn't seem right to—"_

_Chief Barlow eyed him closely. "You're a rookie, aren't you boy?"_

"_Yes sir."_

"_Well, welcome to the piss shit world of domestic law enforcement. There ARE no winners!"_

"_No sir." Rookie cop quickly agreed._

"_Unless—" He paused again and cast a steely gaze about the room, "Unless you all are willing to take an oath to NEVER speak of this moment again. I'm legally bound to file a report that tells the truth of what happened here, however, as chief of police, I also have the ability to seal that file—along with all evidence—forever."_

_Officer Jerry cleared his throat. "What are you suggesting, sir?"_

"_I'm not suggesting. I'm asking. Are those of you in this room willing to forget everything you've witnessed—"_

_One of the paramedics—the one named Kopecki—spoke up anxiously. "I'm no cop, but even I know you can't do that, Chief. You've got to present all of this to the prosecuting attorney, and—"_

"_Do you think I don't know my own goddamned job, Kopecki? I may be fairly new as Chief of Police, but I KNOW what I'm supposed to do. I'm ASKING are you willing to turn a blind eye?"_

"_Sir, you could lose your job," Officer Jerry said in a low voice. _

"_I fucking know that too, Warner." _

_He looked over to where I was laying and shook his head. "But I also know what's happened to this boy—this baby, goddamn it—should NEVER have happened. And the way I see it taking this boy's real father figure away isn't going to do anything but make the situation even more tragic. Can anyone tell me otherwise?"_

_Silence._

"_How are you going to explain Mr. Morelli's death to the public?" Rookie cop wondered worriedly. "You can't really say suicide, because stabbing yourself with a knife wouldn't—"_

"_No one has seen the knife yet but those of us in this room," Chief Barlow cut in. "If Mrs. Morelli is agreeable to a closed casket funeral, we can make this death anything we want it to be—for instance, a heart attack."_

_Why were all these adults so willing to lie? Didn't they know it was wrong? Why wasn't Ma TELLING them it was wrong? This was bad. I could feel it was bad and wrong, but I didn't know what to do. And the pain was so awful I could barely stay awake._

"_Now I'm asking again—" Chief Barlow said, "Are you all willing to swear on oath to keep what's happened here tonight quiet until each of your very own deaths?"_

"_What about the boy?" the other paramedic wondered. "What's to prevent him from talking—?"_

"_Or the other siblings?" Kopecki added, equally concerned._

"_Mrs. Morelli?" Chief Barlow raised his eyebrows._

"_I'll—I'll keep them quiet. I'll swear them to secrecy," Ma spoke quickly. "I promise you—"_

"_I don't know," Officer Jerry shook his head. "God, Chief—I just don't know. We could ALL be liable here. If one of those kids talks—especially Joseph—"_

"_Officers—I swear I'll find a way to make Joseph forget everything that's happened," Ma entreated those around her. "Anthony will help me, won't you, son?"_

_Tony didn't respond. I think he was still scared he might have to go to jail. And I was scared maybe I was the one who should really go to jail. It was all so confusing!_

_Chief Barlow looked around the garage again. "Well?"_

_The silence seemed endless this time, as everyone stared at one another. I could see Ma's lips moving silently in prayer._

"_You'll seal it completely, sir?" Officer Jerry confirmed in a hesitant voice._

"_That's what I said, didn't I?"_

_More silence._

_Finally the rookie cop spoke up hesitantly, "I'm willing, sir. I'll do it for the kid."_

_After a few moments, Officer Jerry nodded. "Yeah, I'm in too."_

_Another painful silence while the two paramedics exchanged an uneasy glance. They finally nodded as well._

_Ma started crying again. "Oh thank you—thank you!" she said over and over like a prayer._

_Chief Barlow closed his eyes briefly. Was he going to change his mind? When he opened them again, he walked over and took my hand. "Then we're in agreement. I'm sorry this happened to you, Joseph. But now you need to forget it. Do you understand? You're to forget this ever happened."_

_Forget it? I'd be lucky if I could ever sleep again! What if the monster came back to get me? _

_Tony stepped forward. "I'll help him to forget," he said to the Big Man. "Uh—thank you, Chief Barlow."_

_The Chief put his arm on Tony's shoulder. "This will haunt you for the rest of your life, son. Only you have the choice to decide whether or not it will define you or not. DON'T let that bastard win."_

"_I won't," Tony said, but he didn't sound very convincing. In fact, Tony didn't look good at all._

"_Chief, we REALLY need to get the boy to the hospital," Kopecki announced._

"_You go ahead—you too, Mrs. Morelli. My two officers and I will take care of everything here."_

"_Thank you," Ma whispered. "I'll never forget this gift you've given to me. Never."_

"_That's alright, ma'am. I'm just sorry the TPD didn't do something sooner." He looked at me again, piercing me with those kind eyes of his. "Joseph, you forget everything now. You hear?"_

"_You forget EVERYTHING now."_

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Oh Jesus! Oh fuck!"

"Joe!"

"Morelli!"

"What the hell's wrong with him," Rogers called out anxiously, no doubt looking frantically at the others.

Voices were swirling around me, mixing in with the ones still echoing in my subconscious.

"I think he's having another flashback, sir." Stumpy Davis' voice spoke hesitantly, but the tone of it was certain.

"_Another—_what the fuck does that mean?" Rogers demanded.

"He had a spell like this yesterday in Newark too, Chief." Now it was Rodriguez who offered his opinion.

And in the midst of their musings, I was still on the ground clutching my head. I knew they must all be worrying I'd lost my mind—especially Manoso and his two Merry Goons, but I didn't even care.

_I'd remembered._

_Oh God, I could remember it all. Everything. The attack, Tony's attempt to rescue me, my father's death, my mother's hysteria, the pact among the people present—Chief Barlow, the officer named Jerry, the rookie cop—the paramedics—"_

_Holy fuck._

Dropping my hands, my head whipped up to meet Rogers troubled gaze.

"Detective, are you all right?"

Without thought, I breathed, "_You_ were there."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

Despite her fear, Mary Lou recovered faster than I did. She pulled out from behind Jessie to move in front of both of us—no doubt thinking of the teenaged girl and my babies.

"Who the hell are _you_?" she demanded of Bulldog, trying to force a little Jersey into her quivering voice.

"I could ask the same of you," he responded derisively, "but I really don't care. It's Stephanie that I need."

"Need? Need for what?" I asked, peeking over Mary Lou's shoulder. "I'm simply doing a favor for my sister-in-law, who called to say she thought there was someone in trespassing in her home. Turns out she was right."

"Cut the bullshit—now," he ordered in a controlled voice. "Where's Paul?"

The random question irritated me for some reason. Probably because we ALL wanted to know where Paul was.

"I have no idea. Why don't you tell me? Better yet, why don't you tell me how you knew I was here as well as explain the connection between you and the Stamplers. You're their uncle?"

"Godfather," Jessie spoke quietly beside me. "He was my father's best friend." She addressed Bulldog. "Uncle Bruce, put the gun away. You're scaring all of us."

"Be quiet, Jessica," Bulldog frowned, ignoring her request. "You don't owe this woman any explanation, and neither do I. But I will tell you, Mrs. Morelli, that I happened to be driving down Hamilton twenty minutes ago and saw your friend here driving like a maniac. I took a chance and decided to follow you. I had no idea you'd lead me directly to your brother-in-law's house."

"What were you doing on Hamilton?" I asked flippantly, knowing full well he wouldn't give me an answer.

"The Q&A part of this little meeting has come to an end," he responded forcefully. "I want you to call Paul and tell him to come here immediately."

"For crying out loud, weren't you listening? I don't_ know_ where he is. And what the hell do you need _him _for anyway? I thought it was Tony you were after."

"Tony is merely a means to the end," Bulldog retorted.

"The end of what?"

"The end of this mess Paul has caused. Now are you going to cooperate with me or not?"

"How can I cooperate when I don't know where he is?"

He moved further into the room and turned up his nose. "I smell swamp. Have you two been out to Lil Conroy's place?"

"How do you know Lil," I shot back.

The saner part of my brain was already yelling at me for not being more frightened of this man. He was, after all, pointing a gun at me. In truth, my frustration over how every aspect of my newly married life was out of control, along with those stupid pregnancy hormones, had me feeling rather bitchy.

"You are wasting valuable time, Stephanie," he growled, completely looking the part of a bulldog. "Were you out at Lil's? Is that where Tony and Paul are hiding? I've seen you out there before—"

"When?" I challenged, my eyes narrowing speculatively. "Have you been following me all along?"

Rolling his eyes, he responded, "I've been _everywhere_ all along—following whomever it takes to get the job done."

"And what exactly _is _the job?"

"To eliminate the problem before us."

"Which IS?" He was really starting to tick me off.

"Your brother-in-law has something we need."

"Would you stop talking in circles?" I cried out, completely annoyed. "What do you need and who the hell is 'we'? Are you talking about Brian Stampler?"

He came closer, grabbing my already bruised arm and yanking me off the bed. "I'm done playing games. You're taking me to Paul."

_Now _I was scared.

Shooting Mary Lou a frightened look, I said, "you have to believe me—I _don't _know where Paul is—honest. We've all been looking for him—just like you."

"They've got to be in the swamp," he went on as if I hadn't even spoken. "That's why you were out there on Wednesday—"

"You saw us there?"

"I just told you I've been all over the place. Yes, I was there hiding on the edge of the swamp. I saw Manoso and the fat chick looking around Lil Conroy's place, while you waited in the car."

I couldn't image Ranger not having been aware of someone else's presence. The only explanation I could think of was he'd been too distracted with trying to train Lula. I did know he'd be furious with himself once he found out he'd been followed and completely unaware of it—especially by Bulldog.

"Come on, let's go," he gave my arm a little tug and shoved me toward the door. Stumbling, I grabbed a hold of the doorjamb to catch myself.

That put Mary Lou over the edge. "Listen, Bullfrog—"

"Bulldog, Mare—Bulldog," I jumped in nervously, shooting Bulldog a nervous glance.

"Bulldog, Bullfrog, Mad Dog—I don't give a damn. Stephanie is _pregnant_—with twins. You aren't taking her anywhere—"

Without a work, he brought the gun down with all his force on top of Mary Lou's head. She instantly slumped to the bed.

"Mare!" I screamed, instinctively moving back toward the bed. "Are you crazy?" I yelled. "You might've killed her."

Jessie stared open-mouthed at Bulldog. "Uncle Bruce!"

Pointing the gun at me, he stopped my forward motion. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Jessie girl," he apologized without emotion, swiveling his head back and forth between the girl and me. "But you have to trust me here. Paul Morelli is a pure evil. He needs to be punished for what he did to you, honey. I need Stephanie to help find him for me."

She looked at him pleadingly. "Don't hurt anyone, Uncle Bruce. Please! Let these women go. _I'll _help you find Paul—"

"Do you know where he is?" he pressed.

"No—I've been here waiting for him for days. But the police could—"

"This is _not_ a police matter," he interrupted firmly. "This is a family matter. Now I want you to promise me you'll stay here until I can come back to get you."

"Where's Brian?" she asked anxiously. "Where's my brother? I want to see him—right now!"

"I'm not sure."

I knew right away he was lying. _Oh God—Mary Lou!_ She was out cold on the bed, a huge lump rising on her forehead.

Bulldog continued, "As soon as I see Brian again, I'll be sure to let him know I've found you. We've both been so worried." He ran his left hand over her hair. "You don't look well at all. Are you sick?"

_Sick on drug withdrawal._

Her expression was a mix of distrust and resentment. "Uncle Bruce, please—"

"Promise me, you'll stay here!" His eyes went cold.

Jessie stared down at Mary Lou before lifting her gaze to meet mine fleetingly. In that single instant, I tried to communicate the need for her to get help—immediately.

"I'll stay," she whispered, placing a hand on Mary Lou's shoulder.

Guilt threatened to overwhelm me, as Bulldog grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door. I couldn't just leave my best friend. _Who knew how injured she was?_

"Please—" I begged, reaching out a hand on the doorjamb to stop our motion. "Let me at least check to see if she's okay. Let me call the police—my husband—"

His answer was to rip my bag from my shoulder and toss it onto the bed. "Let's go," he ordered, pushing me out the door.

Outside, he forced me into his Jeep Wrangler and quickly fired up the engine.

Sitting beside him, I realized I was scared out of my mind. But for once it wasn't for my own safety. It was for that of my best friend—and perhaps even more importantly—my unborn children. Once again I'd foolishly put myself in harm's way.

Joe would be sick with worry.

_Joe._

Closing my eyes, I started praying, hoping he'd somehow sense I was in danger. _Why hadn't he, Ranger or Lula answered my calls?_

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_You were there?_

What the fuck was Morelli babbling about now, and what the hell had happened to him? One minute he'd been trying to rip Stampler's head off, and the next he'd crumpled to the ground, clutching his head and calling me 'Daddy'. Now he was telling his boss 'he'd been there'_. Been where?_

The young cop—Davis—had said something about a flashback. A flashback of what—his childhood?

"Detective Morelli, _are _you okay?" Rogers bent down to where Morelli was still kneeling on the ground. "Are you ill?"

"No, sir," he said dazedly. "I'm okay."

_Okay? _He looked pasty with death. Meanwhile, Brian Stampler's face was bright red with anger.

"What the fuck is going on here!" he yelled, struggling against Rodriguez, who still had his arms wrapped firmly around Stampler. "I demand to be released immediately."

"Shut up, Stampler," Rogers commanded harshly. Extending a hand toward Morelli, he helped him off the ground. He leaned in close to his ear, and said, "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Later," Morelli insisted, shaking his head to clear it. He was still looking as though he'd seen a ghost or a monster or something. "I need to focus right now. Can you take Stampler down to the precinct for me? I'll be there as soon as I can. I need to get everyone organized here first though."

Rogers nodded. "That's fine. I'll call Bud Reynolds and have him head on over. That'll give you a little additional time."

Morelli let out a slow breath of air. "Okay."

"Joe—" Rogers began, his brow furrowed in concern.

Holding up his hand, Morelli shook his head again—this time more determinedly. "I need to work."

"Yes, but _can _you?"

Morelli didn't respond.

After sending Stampler off to a police car with Rodriguez, the two of them began to confer about how best to handle the situation in the warehouse. It was time for Bobby, Lester, Lula and I to get back to our own business—that being to find Paul and Tony.

Jerking my head, I led Bobby and Lester off to the side of where everyone had congregated. "What do you know about Morelli?"

"Which one?" Bobby cracked.

I merely stared at him, and his smile quickly faded. "I never saw Paul once he left the warehouse, and I lost Jackson over near Hamilton and Chambers," he reported.

"Impressions?"

"Morelli practically exploded out of that warehouse this morning. He looked fucking scared to death. He took off, and it was a full two minutes later before Jackson appeared. He seemed agitated but focused."

I allowed the visual image to sift through my brain. Why would Paul have been at that warehouse unless he was somehow still involved with Meachum and his gang? Nothing else made sense. And how the hell had Bulldog known to be there at that particular time? The whole thing was a fucking mystery."

"Ranger!" Lula suddenly called out from her position behind the Turbo, her voice intense and frightened.

She had her cell phone to her ear. With her sunglasses off, I could see her eyes were so big they'd practically taken over her entire face. The fact that she'd called me Ranger instead of Boss Man was yet another indicator something was wrong.

"It's Steph!" she added, pointing at the phone with her other hand.

I hadn't even taken a step, when Morelli's head whipped around from where he was still talking with Rogers.

"Stephanie's on the phone?" he demanded. Without a word to his boss, he headed toward Lula, his hand outstretched. "Thank God! Can I talk to her?" He still appeared pale and shaken from whatever the hell had overcome him earlier.

Lula looked from him to me, and immediately I could tell something was wrong. Bobby and Lester must've seen the same thing for we all started moving.

"What's wrong?" I questioned, my heart leaping into my throat.

Morelli got there first. "What do you mean what's wrong?" He asked quizzically. "Here—let me talk with her."

"She—she left a message a while ago," Lula began. "Said she left them for both of you as well."

Instantly phones were in hand, while we checked call logs. _Damn it! _Sure enough there'd been a call from her. Stupid lack of cell reception in the basement of that warehouse had prevented either of us from getting them.

"What'd she say?" Morelli was out of patience and clearly fighting some sort of internal battle. He looked close to the edge.

Lula swallowed hard.

"Lula—report," I ordered harshly, hoping to snap her into gear.

"She went to Lil Conroy's house with Mary Lou. Apparently Tony approached her there."

"What!" Morelli exclaimed. The vein in his neck started to pulse.

"Do they have him in custody?" I quickly added, already pulling car keys out of my pocket.

"No—he dove off the edge of the drop-off and landed somewhere down in the swamp. Steph said he's injured, but took off deeper into the swamp."

"Is she all right?" Morelli put his hand on Lula's shoulder. "Lula, is Steph okay?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "She said Angelina called while she was there to inform her she'd stopped off at Paul's house. She found Jessie there."

"Holy Shit," I breathed. We needed to move—now. "Is Tony's wife still at the house with Jessie?"

Lula shook her head. "She refused to stay, so—"

Morelli swore under his breath, closing his eyes in resignation. "She went on her own, didn't she? Steph went to get Jessie on her own."

"Not exactly," Lula hedged. "She took Mary Lou with her."

_Fuck._

Morelli had his speed dial button to Stephanie pushed before Lula had even finished talking."

"Come on. Come on," he begged under his breath. "Pick up, Stephanie. Hurry."

He'd obviously reached her voice mail for he said, "Steph—call me as soon as you get this. You're scaring the shit out of me. Please—_please _don't do anything foolish to harm you or the babies. Just hold tight—we're on our way." Taking another breath, he spared us all a glance, before turning away to add, "I need to talk to you, Cupcake—badly. I—I remembered everything."

_Remembered? Remembered what? _

Morelli disconnected and was already turning back to tell Rogers what was happening.

"Wait—" I called out to him.

Turning back, he gave me a look of frustration. "Not now, Manoso. Let's go. I'll follow you there."

I held out my arm to stop him. "Are you sure you're all right?"

This only served to piss him off. Giving me a hard shove, he snarled, losing that infamous temper of his. "I _said_—not NOW!"

* * *

**Joe's POV**

_I didn't have time for this bullshit—not when Stephanie was out there working the case without protection of any kind. _Mary Lou was an amazing friend, but she wasn't trained for anything more than school magazine fundraisers and bake sales. _Oh God. _My gut churned at the idea of them trying to do anything dangerous.

_What was I saying? _They'd _already _been in danger. Tony had approached them at the swamp? What had he said? Had he assaulted Steph again? I'd kill him if he ever touched her again the way he had at our house last week.

Tony—my brother—my hero. He'd saved my life that day twenty-seven years ago.

He'd slayed the monster.

Manoso recovered quickly from the shove I'd given him and was right back in my face. "Listen, Morelli—"

"No! We don't have time for this," I insisted, throwing my hands in the air. "Not now—not when Steph is out there without protection. Let's go get her and Jessie. Everything else can wait."

Manoso opened his mouth to protest, and my phone chose that moment to ring.

_Stephanie._

"It's her," I announced to everyone, already breathing a sigh of relief after seeing the Caller ID. "Hey, Cupcake—you scared me. Everything okay?"

"J-j-j-ooe?" a voice slurred in my ear.

Instantly, I was alert. Something was wrong.

"Steph? Baby, what's the matter?"

"Jooee, it'sss Mare."

_Mary Lou? _God, she sounded terrible. "Mary Lou? What's wrong? Where are you? Where's Stephanie?"

"Bull—"

_Silence._

_Oh God!_ "Mary Lou!" I shouted into the phone. "Mary Lou? Stephanie?"

After a moment, a terrified voice spoke into the phone. "Mr. Morelli?"

"Yes! Who is this—Jessie?"

"Yes, it's Jessie Stampler," she announced hesitantly.

I tried to remain calm, but it was no use. The amount of information occupying my brain at that moment had me ready to explode with rage and confusion. "Jessie, what's wrong with Mary Lou? And where's Stephanie? I need to talk with her."

"Mary Lou's hurt, Mr. Morelli. She was hit on the head by a gun. She was unconscious for a long time, but then she came to for a minute and saw Mrs. Morelli's bag lying on the bed. We found her cell phone and pushed the speed dial for you. Now Mary Lou's passed out again. She's hurt bad, Mr. Morelli. I'm scared."

_Oh shit. Why hadn't Steph made the call? And Mary Lou was hurt? _

"Who hit her with the gun?" I felt compelled to ask.

Ranger's eyes went dark at the mention of the word gun.

"My uncle Bruce—"

"Uncle Bruce!" I repeated incredulously and watched Ranger pound his fist on top of his precious Turbo. "Bruce Jackson is your uncle?"

"My godfather."

My chest constricted. I could hardly breath, as I forced out the words, "Jessie, _where's_ Stephanie—I mean Mrs. Morelli. Put her on the phone right now."

"I can't," came the shaky reply. "Uncle Bruce took her. She's—she's gone."


	17. Chapter 17

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Happy Friday! Okay, here are a few notes: Firstly, a HUGE thanks to the feedback from last chapter. What a help it was to read your feelings and insights. I'm continually appreciative of all your support. Secondly, given what's happening, there's a bit more profanity in this chapter than in others, so I guess I'm giving you a **profanity warning**. LOL! And thirdly, guess what? There's another cliff hanger at the end of this chapter. Yes, I love them, BUT sometimes they're put there, because I need time to think of the next part, which is the case this time. I'm a little overwhelmed with "real life" right now, e.g. getting ready for the school year, job stuff, etc., and I really wanted to give you a chapter of some kind this week. So be patient with me, and don't shoot me for the cliff hanger! LOL! Fourthly, yes, I realize the chapter begins and ends with the same phrase. I did it purposefully, not because I'm repetitive. **Big Cheesy Grin**

Finally, thank you to my fabulous Beta reader, Julie, who every chapter goes above and beyond to help me. You're the absolute best, my friend!

* * *

Chapter 17

**Joe's POV**

_Oh God—no. _

_Bulldog had her._

"Gone?" I repeated stupidly, putting my hand on the hood of Ranger's Turbo to steady myself. "Gone where?" I swear my heart literally dropped to my stomach.

_Please don't let Bulldog hurt them. I swear—do you hear me? I swear to you, God—I'll do anything you ask. Just please don't let him hurt Steph or our children._

Beside me Ranger cursed loudly, his face reflecting his own shock and fear.

He knew without my saying that Bulldog had her.

"They went to find Paul and Tony," Jessie Stampler spoke timidly in my ear. "Uncle Bruce thinks that Mrs. Morelli—I mean Stephanie—knows where they are. He was talking about some swamp—" Her voice grew even more tremulous. "Could someone please come? I'm scared. Mary Lou doesn't look too good, and I don't feel very well either."

The wind had picked up that afternoon, and it only served to emphasize my appearance for I surely must've looked like a wild man, as I tried to process yet another shock to my brain. My eyes were wild; my thoughts were wild; the emotions coursing through my senses were wild. If someone were to cut into my body right then, a tornado of violent energy would simply explode out of me.

Every person had a breaking point, and I'd just reached mine.

"I can't do it," I choked in a ragged breath. My chest was constricting in fear. _Was I having a heart attack? _Handing the phone toward Ranger, I struggled simply not to fall apart. "Talk to Jessie. I can't do it."

I dropped to a squatting position; similar to the one I'd been in mere moments ago following the flashback about my father's death. My elbows were on my knees; my fists pressed against my eyes. _What the hell was wrong with me? _It was as if my entire body had shut down. Only one thought was in my mind, and that was finding my wife. There was no question I needed to get my act together—immediately, but it was as if I'd become incapacitated.

In the background, Ranger tried to offer Jessie some assurance. "Someone will be right there. Just hang tight. I'm going to hand the phone to Lula. She's a friend of Stephanie's. She'll stay on the line with you until someone comes. Here she is."

Ranger handed the phone off to Lula and then got down on his haunches next to me. I think he was contemplating whether to commiserate or tell me to get off my ass.

Rogers must've seen my reaction for he materialized as well. "What the fuck is going on with you, Morelli? Why are you on the ground again?" he demanded in irritable concern.

"We just learned that Bruce Jackson has taken Stephanie," Ranger responded quietly, barely holding his attitude against Rogers—and cops in general—in check.

The chief of police sucked in a breath. "Oh fuck—no," he muttered with genuine regret.

"You need to get an ambulance to Paul Morelli's house—stat," Ranger ordered. "Bulldog hit Stephanie's best friend Mary Lou Stankovic with his gun. She's unconscious." He paused for a moment. "Jessie Stampler's with her."

"What? Jesus!"

"It gets better," Ranger noted sardonically. "Turns out Bulldog is Jessie's godfather." He jerked his head toward where two uniforms had Brian Stampler in a squad car. "Probably Stampler's too."

Rogers wiped a hand down the front of his face and muttered, "Well, isn't this the definitive description of a clusterfuck." He put a hand on my shoulder, and his tone changed to one of sympathy. "We'll find your wife, Joe. Whatever it takes."

I couldn't respond. Christ, I couldn't even breathe yet. My eyes were closed as I tried to comprehend what all had happened in the last five minutes. Somehow I had to move past the images of my father and Tony still flying through my head and concentrate on the only thing that mattered—finding Stephanie.

The logical part of my brain was able to acknowledge the fact that Steph was tough. She was no stranger to extreme danger, having faced it more times than most cops. Hell, I'd already been living with the fear of something happening to her for more than three years. But this was different. By God, it _was _different. She was my _wife _now—the other half of me, and the emotional side of my brain was fucking falling apart with the mere idea that something could've happened to her already.

Rogers addressed Ranger with barely restrained disdain, "Any idea where he might've taken her?"

"We think Lil Conroy's house." Ranger returned evenly. "She lives on the edge of a swamp connected to the Trenton-Hamilton Marsh. It's possible both Paul and Tony are hiding back in there somewhere. Tony approached Stephanie behind Lil's house earlier this afternoon."

_Tony._

I needed to get to Lil's place—now. Despite remembering Tony's sacrifice to save me twenty-seven years ago, I still didn't fully know if I could trust him—or Paul for that matter.

"What!" Rogers shouted. "Why the hell didn't Stephanie bring him in? She _is _a bounty hunter, for Christ's sake."

Rogers needed to shut up before I hurt him. "I have to go," I announced abruptly, getting to my feet and shaking my head to try and clear it. "Stephanie—"

Rogers opened his mouth, but Manoso stood as well, cutting us both off. "We're _all _going to go. I'll pull some of my men together, and we'll help with the search."

"I appreciate that," I responded numbly, hoping I was giving the right responses. Honest to God, I didn't even know what Manoso was saying. Nor did I care. It was as if I'd suddenly been encased in a balloon. I was trapped on the inside, and everything on the outside was muffled and distorted. If only I could think—or breathe.

_Please God—PLEASE let her be okay._

"There's no need for you to get involved, Manoso," Rogers argued. "The TPD—"

"The TPD has its hands full with this fucking mess here at the warehouse," Ranger argued.

"I have plenty of men who could—"

"No," I shot out before either man could say another word.

I didn't know much, but I knew if Stephanie was going to make it through this ordeal alive, I required the kind of help that Ranger had at his disposal—not the TPD. I didn't even question allowing Stephanie's former lover help me find her. My gut knew that once again the three of us—Ranger, Steph and me—were in need of one another's assistance.

Ours was truly an inexplicable triangle.

"Joe—" Rogers tried to argue.

"Get some more of the men from my unit to come out and assist with the scene here. Put Rodriguez in charge with help from Davis."

It was taking all of my mental energy to give even the simplest of commands. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there_._

Rogers frowned. "Detective, I'm not going to allow you to go off half-cocked with a team of mercenaries without our men being there—"

"I don't care what_ you_ do, but _I'm _leaving now—with Manoso—to find my wife," I blasted him with the heat of my aggravation. "If you want to come out there with a team later on, that's fine. But we're leaving now."

Ranger looked at the sky. "Timing is critical—there's a storm coming. We need to get to the swamp immediately, but what do you want to do about Mary Lou and Jessie?" He was working hard to snap me back into cop mode.

_Shit. _I knew Stephanie would want me to make sure Mary Lou was okay. She was her best friend. And someone had to get Jessie Stampler into protective custody before something happened to her as well. _Goddamn it—I needed to think!_

But the only thing on my mind was Stephanie. Job or no job—my mind simply couldn't handle any more stress.

For some unfathomable reason, Ranger seemed to sense and understand what was happening. "Do you have her husband's number?" he asked without censure.

_Christ, I'd totally forgotten about Lenny! _He needed to be told immediately. I waved at my phone—still in Ranger's hand. "It's in there."

Manoso stared at Rogers, who'd been standing there assessing us both. "If it's all right with you, I'll send Lester and Bobby here over to get Jessie and to make sure Mary Lou gets to the hospital okay. They'll be faster than your men, and this way Morelli knows they're both safe."

Rogers bristled. "An ambulance is on the way, and my officers can manage to keep a seventeen year old child safe, Manoso—"

"Not like my men can," Ranger replied simply.

"Let him do it," I muttered. "We can't waste time arguing, and, as much as I hate to say it, he's right."

The police chief let out an aggravated huff. "Fine. I'll meet you at Lil Conroy's place as soon as I can get things organized here and put together a team." He started to walk away, and then turned back with empathy in his eyes. "We'll find her, Morelli."

_You're damned right I'll find her. I won't rest until I do._

I watched Rogers walk toward Rodriguez and Davis. Turning to Ranger, I said in a tone void of emotion. "I'll meet you at Lil's."

"The hell you will. Get in the Turbo, Morelli. You're in no shape to drive," Manoso retorted.

He probably thought I was weak for allowing my emotions to take hold of me, but I honestly didn't give a fuck. _If he only knew what all was going through my mind._

"I don't know what's going on with you, but you need to clear your head and focus. Your wife and children need you," he said brusquely.

_Did he really think I didn't know that already? Jesus! _

I couldn't even argue with him though, because he was right. Unfortunately, I had no idea how I was going to do it.

Ranger found Lenny's number on my phone and pushed the connect button. While he waited for the call to go through, he motioned toward his car. "Give me the keys to your vehicle and get into mine. I'll have Lula drive your truck over to the swamp."

He turned his back to me and spoke into the phone. "Is this Lenny Stankovic? You don't know me, but my name's—"

Tuning out Manoso's voice, I slid into the passenger's seat of the Turbo and closed my eyes, working to heed his advice and focus. But it was no use. Images of Stephanie immediately filled my head. First, as a kid arguing with me, her ever-present beach towel wrapped around her neck; then as a teen with her eyes glazed from both nervousness and pleasure the first time I entered her body on the floor of the Tasty Pastry; and then as an adult, my being FTA and feeling my heart come alive again when I saw her face after more than a decade. More recently, how she'd stood behind me during the Kennard nightmare and my frustrations with the TPD; the way she'd looked when she'd said she'd marry me—better yet when she'd walked down the aisle to become my wife; even better—when she'd laid beneath me on our wedding night—proudly proclaiming the cupcake tattoo she wore branded her as mine.

God, she _was _mine—and I was hers. Just last week, she'd told me she was carrying not one—but two of our children. That very morning I'd slid into her welcoming body at dawn, conscious of the ever so slight swelling in her belly—indecipherable to anyone but me. Was it only hours ago I'd teased her about using string to hold her jeans together?

_Oh fuck. Oh God. _My chest was tightening again with anxiety. _I'd never be able to live without her_. I'd never be able to _forgive _myself if something happened to either her or the babies because of this mess my family had brought into our lives.

_Please God—please keep her safe._

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"This is crazy, Bulldog," I broached cautiously for what felt like the hundredth time since we'd left Paul's house. I was trying so hard to control both my voice and my nerves. "I keep telling you I have no idea where Paul and Tony are. We've been searching for them all week—just like you."

"Shut up—I'm sick of you harping at me. We both know you have the capability of leading me to them, and that's what you're going to do."

We were closing in on Lil Conroy's place in Bulldog's old, beater of a pick-up. He'd driven cautiously the whole way, constantly on the look out for police vehicles. While outwardly I appeared somewhat calm, inside I was a freakin' basket case. This man was a lunatic. He'd knocked Mary Lou out cold without a single hint of remorse and was carting a pregnant woman around at gunpoint. I was in serious danger here, as were my babies, and for once in my adult life I knew it.

_Joe—where are you? I need you so badly right now. _

For the past three years, I'd always been able to count on either Joe or Ranger to bail me out of trouble, but back then I'd willingly put myself into harms way by virtue of my job. This time danger had found me without my even trying. If there had been even a shred of doubt left in my mind about whether or not I was ready to leave bonds enforcement, it was now permanently eradicated. I was done—both mentally and physically—and ready to move on to a new phase of life.

"Can you at least tell me what's going on?" I pleaded. "What do you need from Paul? Maybe I can get it for you without all this drama." And then I began to stretch the truth. "I _want _to help you, Bulldog. I could care less about either of my brothers-in-law—"

"For Christ's sake—shut—up," he enunciated loudly, waving the gun at me. "I need to think, and I don't need your mouth continuously flapping while I do it!"

Shrinking against the passenger door, I looked out the window and noticed dark clouds beginning to roll into the area. The temperature had definitely dropped since lunchtime, and it looked as though we were either in for rain—or snow. I only had on a light fall jacket, and now had no purse thanks to the whacko beside me. I had no way to protect myself from either the elements _or _my captor.

My mind was like a merry-go-round, rotating worries in a circular motion. _Was Mary Lou okay? Would Jessie run again or would she get help for my best friend. Would Joe find me? Did he even know I was missing yet? What would Bulldog do to me if we didn't find Paul? And for that matter where WERE Paul and Tony!_

Bulldog parked a short distance down the street from Lil's place and motioned for me to exit the truck. As soon as I stepped out, I felt the wind sting my face and whistle through my clothing. A rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.

Scanning the area to see if anyone was watching, he grabbed a hold of my arm and began to walk quickly toward Lil's house. "Come on," he ordered roughly.

"This is crazy," I repeated yet again, stumbling along beside him. "It's going to rain any minute. Where the hell do you think we're going?"

"Into the swamp," he replied curtly.

"What! Are you insane? I can't go into that swamp. I'm pregnant, you idiot!" _God, it wasn't going to help my cause to get pissed, but I couldn't help it. _

"I don't care if you're about to drop those bastards right this minute. We're going into that swamp, and you're going to find Paul and Tony Morelli."

"We don't even know they're _in _there!" I yelled. "And my children are _not _bastards, _YOU _bastard!"

He had to be joking. Neither of us knew what we were doing. We'd both be killed for certain.

Bulldog stood on the edge of the drop-off in Lil's backyard scanning the swamp. It was the same spot in which I'd spoken to Tony not quite an hour ago.

_Tony. _

Oh God, was he still hiding around here somewhere? Could I trust him to help me if he _were_ in the area?

"Down there!" Bulldog called out over the wind, which was steadily increasing as the storm clouds rolled closer. "Some of the brush looks bent. Maybe there's a path."

An image of Tony diving off the embankment and then dragging his leg behind him as he moved deeper into the swamp came to mind. Jesus, I couldn't go down there. I was already exhausted, functioning strictly on adrenaline. My dress boots were no match for the rough terrain—not to mention there could be quick sand, snakes and any other number of creatures waiting for me in that abyss.

"Let's go," he ordered, making his way toward a spot at the top of the embankment that looked as though it'd been recently disturbed. "You first."

Unbelievable fear set in at the knowledge he was determined to take me into that swamp. From the moment I'd found out I was pregnant; I'd been slowly coming to grips with the idea of being a mother. In the beginning, I'd been selfishly angry at the idea of giving up what I perceived as my freedom—much in the same way as I'd balked at marriage for so many years. Enduring the paternity test had been traumatic as well, but during the course of it, I'd come to accept the fact I was indeed having a child. Finding out there were two babies had thrown both Joe and me another curve ball. But despite the constant morning sickness and unending fatigue, the idea of having created two lives with the man I loved no longer seemed stifling. Instead it felt as though Joe and I were cementing our love in the most intimate way possible.

And now—faced with the idea of something seriously going wrong if I stepped into that swamp—I was overcome with unimaginable dread at the idea of losing either of them. Grandma Bella's vision of only one baby came to mind, and my heart raced even faster.

Digging in my heels, I turned to face Bulldog. "Listen to me—I'm begging you. We are completely unprepared to go out there. It'll be dark in another couple of hours. We have no provisions or tools or safety measures. This is a suicide mission."

"Move!" he shoved me hard, and I tumbled over the edge of the drop off. My boots had slippery bottoms, and I slid a good twenty feet down the top of the embankment before I was able to grab onto a large patch of scrub brush. _Shit! _Thank God I'd skidded on my behind rather than my belly.

This was it. Bulldog was serious about going into the swamp, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

"You're out of your mind!" I panted as he inched his way to my side. "Do you even care that you're going to murder my innocent, unborn children?"

"Nope," he answered in a monotone voice. "Move."

_Oh God, please protect my babies. And please—please help Joe to know where I am._

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

Morelli hadn't spoken a word since we'd peeled out of the warehouse parking lot five minutes ago, with Lula right behind us. Honestly, I didn't know what to say to him. He was a tough, smart cop. I'd worked with him in any number of crisis situations, particularly in the past three years, and I'd never seen him respond to stress in the way I had today. The man sitting next to me now looked shell-shocked—almost fragile—and it was a hell of a sight. I couldn't figure out what that flashback business had been about earlier.

When the young cop Davis had said Morelli was having a flashback, my first instinct was to think it had something to do with the military. I'd seen it happen to many a soldier over the years. But as soon as Morelli had called me 'Daddy', it was clear the memories were from his past. And there was doubt in my mind those memories were somehow tied to this mess with his brothers.

I needed to call Bobby and Lester to check on their status with Mary Lou and Jessie. I also needed to notify Tank and have him pull some of my men together to help with the search. But first I needed to know what the fuck was going on with Morelli. We were embarking on an epic failure if the two of us couldn't communicate—and somehow trust one another.

"You need to talk to me," I broached calmly.

"No—I don't," he responded in a low voice. "I _really _don't."

"What was that flashback business about. Why'd you call me Daddy?"

"Leave it alone. It doesn't concern you."

"But does it concern Stephanie?" I asked boldly.

_That _got a rise out of him—and fast. His head whipped toward me. "I can take care of my wife, Manoso—"

"I didn't say you couldn't, although you sure as hell aren't capable of taking care of anyone at the moment. Look at you. I've never seen you like this before. You're—"

"I'm not weak, if that's what you're insinuating," he growled. "I'll be ready when we get to the swamp."

"You're going to self-destruct by the time we get to the swamp!" I shot back. "And what good is that going to do Stephanie? She may not be mine to love any more, but that doesn't mean I've stopped caring about her. If you think I'm about to let you—"

Morelli's eyes were untamed with anger and worry. "_You're _not in charge here, Manoso—I am. This isn't one of your superhero missions where you get to go in and save the girl. This is about me finding my wife and children. I don't care about—"

"Then you _are_ weak, because this isn't about who's in charge. It's about not allowing anything to happen to Steph—"

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"_You're weak, Tony. You're weak—and nothing but a loser."_

"_I AM NOT A LOSER!" Tony's voice bellowed, the sound seeming to pour out from every part of his body._

_THREE cries echoed throughout the garage._

_And then there was nothing but silence._

"Jesus Christ!" I shouted, pounding my forehead, as if I could somehow smash the memories rocking my brain. Beside me, Ranger's usually unflappable demeanor was shaken. He'd been momentarily silenced by my outburst.

He was right. God, how I hated to admit he was right, but I _was_ mentally weak right now. I needed help.

Resigning myself to the fact, I reached for my phone and dialed Cheryl Sullivan's cell phone. _Answer the phone. Answer the phone. __Please don't be in a consultation._

"What are you doing? Who are you calling?" Manoso demanded, watching me as if I was some sort of nut job.

I ignored him completely.

"Cheryl Sullivan," came the psychologist's smooth, cultured voice in my ear.

"Dr. Sullivan—Cheryl," I began, once more paying no attention to Ranger, whose mouth was now hanging open, "It's Joe Morelli." Already I could feel the tension easing. Here was someone who could help me.

She must've sensed from the tone of my voice that something major had occurred for all she said was, "It happened."

"Yeah," I choked out the word. "I remember. I remember it all."

"Where are you?"

"On the way to a swamp. The bounty hunter after my brothers has taken Stephanie hostage."

"Oh dear God," she breathed. "Where is this place? I'll come immediately."

"I hate to have you—"

"_Where _is it?"

I gratefully gave her the directions. "Thank you."

"You've hit the wall, haven't you," she observed intuitively.

Her simple words of compassion were almost my undoing. _God, please let me find Stephanie. _I needed her so badly.

"I have."

"Are you alone?"

I couldn't help but give somewhat of a derisive snort. "No. Oddly enough I'm with Manoso."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Was he there when you remembered?"

"Yep."

"And he wants to know what's going on, doesn't he."

"Bingo."

She sighed. "Don't kill him. I'll be there as fast as I can."

"Thanks."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

No sooner had he disconnected than I pounced. "Why the hell did you call _her_?"

_Damn it! _I sounded almost panic-stricken.

"What's it matter to you who the fuck I call?"

_Get a hold of yourself, Carlos. _"It doesn't. It's just—"

"Listen, I _don't _want to get into this. We don't have time, and I don't have the energy. Here's what I'm willing to tell you. You're right. I've been having some flashbacks about my childhood—"

"Do they have to do with your brothers?" I interrupted, needing to know that one thing.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And it's personal. I haven't even had time to deal with it all myself. All I care about right now is finding my wife."

"What's the deal with Cheryl Sullivan?" I pushed with reluctant curiosity.

I'd been hoping never to see the woman again. The eccentric counselor had been playing _way_ too big of a role in my dreams the past several nights, and I didn't need to see her in person to give my subconscious new fuel for the fire.

What I needed was to forget her.

Morelli twisted his neck, trying to relieve some of the tension. "She's been helping me to process what's coming out of my subconscious." He gave me a fierce look. "And don't start giving me shit about talking with a counselor. You have no idea what I'm dealing with."

"I'd know if you'd just tell me."

"No."

"We may not be friends—"

"You got that right," he scoffed.

_Damn it! Why was I pushing this so hard? _It sure as hell couldn't be because I felt badly for him.

_Could it?_

Nah—a week ago I'd walked out of Dr. Hamilton's office hoping never to see the lucky bastard's face again. More than likely, my interest was out of concern for Stephanie. I needed to make certain she wasn't saddled with a loose cannon for a husband. I needed to protect her.

I also needed to be on my phone making calls to my team, but somehow I had to get Morelli and I working on the same page first.

"I can't help you _or _Stephanie unless I understand what's going on. Come on, Morelli—in your gut you know I'm right."

He sat there for the longest time—so long that I assumed he'd decided to blow me off. Well fine then—to hell with him! My focus now was strictly on finding Ba—Stephanie. God, if anything happened to her—

"Last weekend—after the paternity test results—I started having these dreams at night," he said so quietly I had to strain my ear to hear him. "They were glimpses of my childhood."

A flash of lightening in the distance caught the attention of both of us. _Shit. _We needed to hurry. I held my tongue, not wanting to give him a reason to stop with the decision to confide in me.

Morelli stared out the front window lost in thought. "At first they were memories of Paul and Tony. My brothers were different people back when I was growing up. They were the ones who did everything a father would do for a son. They taught me to ride a bike, came to all my sporting events—stuff like that."

Exhaling a long breath, he continued, "A few days ago the flashbacks started happening during the day as well. They were more difficult, because they had to do with my father's death. I could remember the funeral, but I couldn't remember his actual death. I started obsessing about an afternoon when Steph and I played some stupid game I'd made up in my parent's garage."

His voice became tighter as he struggled to keep his composure. "Yesterday I had a flashback in Newark, reminding me that my father died on the same day. He came in and found Steph and me in the garage and went berserk. I was eight, and she was six."

I felt as though I needed to say _something. _It was clear he was struggling. "I've heard the rumors about your old man. He was a rough character—"

"He was a monster."

In my mind, there was no one mentally tougher than I was, but, honest to God, the way he said those words sent a fucking chill down the back of my neck.

"He was a drunk, a bully, a womanizer, a—a pedophile. He raped my sisters repeatedly."

_Jesus. _

"Tony had it in his head that as the oldest he was responsible for protecting the rest of us. He took the bulk of the abuse the old man dished out. As the youngest, I was spared most of it. The rest of my family had it in their heads that I was going to be the best of the Morelli's. Consequently, the expectations placed on me were unrealistic and often ridiculous. I rebelled a lot when I was a teen."

One corner of his mouth curled upward self-mockingly. "Yesterday's flashback allowed me to see that after my father found Steph and me, she ran home, and I was left to face one of his drunken rages. We were home alone, and he felt it was time to teach me how to be a man."

I swallowed, thinking of my own difficult childhood.

Morelli's voice was deadly restrained, almost as though he were observing dispassionately in his mind what was coming out his mouth.

"He started to beat me—brutally. After several minutes and multiple pleas on my part, it became clear he wasn't going to stop. There was no doubt in my mind he was going to kill me. On the floor I found a switchblade that belonged to Tony. I was able to open the knife and stab him—"

_Holy fuck—was he about to tell me he'd killed his father?_

"At first that's all I could remember, and I was sure I'd killed my old man. But that flashback back at the warehouse just now showed me Tony came in at the last minute and pulled the monster off of me. I'd stabbed him in the thigh. Rocco and Tony struggled for a few minutes, with me still lying on the floor beneath them. I was turned away and didn't see the actual impact, but the result was that my father was stabbed in the heart. Tony told the police Rocco had tripped and fallen on the knife, but I don't know for sure."

He let the silence hang for a moment before continuing, "My mother found us all lying there. The police and paramedics came. I was in rough shape and ended up in the hospital for a couple of days with broken ribs and several other injuries. Ma tried to cover everything up by taking the blame, but it was clear Tony had done something."

"Was he an adult at the time?"

"Yeah—nineteen and a half."

"They didn't charge him?"

"That's the crazy thing. The chief of police at the time—a Chief Barlow—assessed the situation from a number of different angles. Evidently the previous administration had received numerous calls from neighbors about my father's rages, but nothing was ever done to stop him. Barlow felt badly about it. He felt it was useless to take Tony away from me, seeing as he was the only father I really had. In the end, he covered everything up himself by sealing the file."

"He didn't present it to the prosecuting attorney?"

"No. Every adult present vowed never to speak of it again. The whole matter just disappeared. I was told to forget the event—told my father had suffered a heart attack. Now I remember I was ordered _every_ single day to erase the memory, until one day I stopped asking. I _had _buried what happened. The rest of my family was sworn to secrecy, and to this day no one has told me the truth about what went on that day."

"No one?" I could feel the anger radiating off of Morelli at the notion his family had withheld something so vital from him his whole life, and I couldn't blame him.

"No one."

Morelli finally shifted in his seat to look at me. "No long ago you helped save my life and Steph's—and for that I continue to feel as though I owe you. There's been too much fucking bad blood between us, but I do trust you to keep this to yourself. I don't need my personal life advertised for all of Trenton. And you're right—as much as I hate to admit it, I do need your help now in finding Stephanie. I'd make a deal with the devil himself if it meant finding her alive."

Now that I knew the truth I didn't quite know what to do with it. "How much of this does _she_ know?"

"All of it, except what happened just a few minutes ago."

"How's she handling it?"

"What—are you worried she should be afraid of me now?" he asked edgily, and then his voice took on a little heat. "I'm NOT my father, Manoso."

"Never thought you were," I responded with self-control. "I'm merely asking how she's handling all of this with the pregnancy stuff too."

He let out another huff. I knew it pissed him off to think I still loved his wife, but there was nothing either of us could do about it other than to deal."

"She's Stephanie," he said simply, knowing I'd understood what he meant by the words. And I did.

Although she didn't realize it about herself, Morelli's wife had the capacity to make anyone feel better about themselves. For the millionth time I wondered why the hell I hadn't done something sooner to let her know how much she meant to me?

Glancing over at where Morelli was now staring numbly out the side window, I knew in my gut it wouldn't have made a difference. What I'd told him last week at Dr. Hamilton's office and Stephanie in the letter I wrote to her before the wedding was the truth. Those two had a history that bound them together in a way I'd never have been able to match. As hard as hell as it was going to be, it was time for me to move on.

Now if I could get my heart in line with my head, I'd be all set.

"Are we almost there?" Morelli asked impatiently. He was done talking about anything other than how to find Stephanie. And we were both getting more anxious by the minute. The weather outside was matching our respective moods.

"About another five miles," I replied, glancing at the sky and still trying to process all he'd told me. After another moment of silence, I observed, "You know, if we get there, and there's evidence they've gone into the swamp, we need supplies and reinforcements, especially if the weather is going to turn here." It was time to call Tank.

"I don't need anything but to get in there and start searching," he retorted.

Spoken like the hotheaded Italian he was.

"You have no idea what the hell you're talking about," I shot back. "You haven't seen this place. Let me call Tank and get him started on—"

"When you were here this morning, what'd you notice about the swamp?"

"That it's a fucking _swamp_. What does that tell you?"

"Cut the shit, Manoso."

"I'm being serious. This isn't a place where you head off on a nature walk. It's big and filled with any number of dangerous unknowns. We're crazy to even think of going in there."

"But we are," he said determinedly.

"Hell yeah, we are—no question. Let me call Tank."

He nodded reluctantly, clearly itching to get out of the car. With his emotions all over the place like this, I was going to have a hell of a time trying to corral him from doing something foolish.

"There was smoke coming from the swamp this morning," I offered. "Lula and I used binoculars, but we couldn't see where it was coming from. My guess is a mile or two back from Lil's place."

"Camp fire?"

"I don't know."

Morelli ran a hand through his hair. "She was wearing shopping clothes this morning."

"Huh?"

"Steph—she was wearing clothes designed to shop—jeans, a button-down dress shirt, nice boots. I'm assuming she took her light-weight fall jacket thinking it'd be easier to carry in the mall."

I swallowed hard; forcing away the fear I was feeling. It wouldn't do anyone any good if I fell apart too. Someone needed to focus.

"She couldn't button her pants this morning," he said softly, almost to himself. Pressing the heel of his hand against his eye, he admitted, "I know you don't want to hear this, but I have to say it. I'll fucking lose my mind if something happens to her or the babies."

Oddly enough, it didn't bother me to hear it—at least as much as it would've a week ago. If I couldn't have Stephanie, it was good to know the one who did hold her heart appreciated just how lucky he truly was.

"I know," I agreed and left it at that. A moment later, I couldn't resist adding, "I'm not going to allow that to happen."

"Okay."

Minutes later we pulled up behind Bulldog's pick-up truck, with Lula directly behind us.

"Bingo," I muttered. "They're here."

Morelli immediately pulled his gun from the waistband of his pants and cocked it. "Let's go."

"Hold on. I want to call Tank first."

"You can wait and call anyone you want, but I'm going."

"Don't be a foolish. Just give me a second to call Tank."

The first raindrops began to fall on top of the Turbo. Lula pounded on the window next to me, until I rolled it down.

"I just talked with Lester," she announced over the wind. "It looked like you two were havin' a talk, so I figured I'd see what was happening over at Paul's house."

"Smart thinking," I nodded, pleased with her foresight.

Morelli crouched his body down, so he could look up at Lula through the window. "How's Mary Lou?"

"The paramedic told Bobby they're thinkin' she might have a fractured skull. They're takin' her to Helene Fuld," she answered shakily.

Morelli thumped the top of the dashboard in frustration. "How sure are they?"

Lula shrugged, her eyes twin white saucers in an ebony face. The rain was falling harder now, and I could see more of the goop in her hair was starting to run down the side of her face.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked. "Name it. I can't stand thinkin' about my girl out there in a swamp with a crazy man." Again, I was pleased with her response. No doubt she was frightened, but she was trying to stay focused on the job.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I realized I was damned proud of my apprentice. She was thinking about Stephanie rather than herself, which was a good sign that the concept of team had registered in her brain. She hadn't even given a thought to running away herself yet_—_at least not that I knew of.

Morelli was getting antsy beside me.

"Call Tank," I ordered her. "Report the situation and tell him we need a team from Rangeman assembled and out here as soon as possible."

"How soon?"

"Yesterday would be good. Morelli and I will head out behind the house and assess the terrain."

I noticed Lil's car was missing. She was probably still at work. Good.

"Call Lester back and tell him to bring Jessie out here. We may need her at some point. Tell Bobby to head over to Helen Fund. Have him introduce himself to Lenny Stankovic. That way we can continue to get updates on Mary Lou."

"Anything else?"

"When you're done, go down and talk with Ermine. Ask if she saw Bulldog and Steph."

"Will do," she nodded.

"Who's Ermine?" Morelli asked impatiently.

"A neighbor—forget about her for now. We need to focus purely on Stephanie."

Lula leaned her head into the car and stopped Morelli who was preparing to open the passenger door. "Joe."

No Officer Hottie, no Morelli—just a simple Joe.

"Yeah?" he asked impatiently.

"You and I both know that girl is like a freakin' cat with nine lives. Her luck is unmatched, _and_ she's damned smart. Mark my words, she's comin' out of that swamp in one piece."

Morelli looked away briefly. "Thanks Lula. You're a good friend—to us both."

Morelli and I stepped out into the now pouring rain. Stephanie was going to need all the good friends she could get, because this was turning into a true nightmare.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

The rain was coming down hard, even beneath the relative cover of the swamp, and Bulldog and I were completely lost.

"Keep moving!" he shouted behind me, pushing his gun between my shoulder blades.

"I can't," I argued weakly. "Don't you see we're lost? And I don't even know where I'm going in the first place, you idiot."

He gave me a slight shove. "I'm not an idiot—trust me. The real idiots are out here in this mess somewhere. Now find them!"

"You're right you're not an idiot," I panted. "You're insane. Do you understand I have a high-risk pregnancy? If something happens to one of my babies, you'll be charged with murder."

"I'll be long gone by then," he assured me. "Do you know how how many years I've been killing people? A long time, and I ain't never been caught before. I'm what you'd call a justice provider. I make justice happen when it seems like there's none to be found through the law. God blesses my work. I won't be caught."

_Oh my God. _He really _was _insane.

My hair was plastered to my face, and I had a blister on my right heel from trying to navigate the marshy terrain in dress boots. Without a watch, it was impossible to know if we'd walked ten minutes or two hours. It was getting darker, however, and I hoped it was from the clouds and not the impending nightfall.

Hungry and beyond exhausted, nausea was beginning to creep into the back of my throat. If only Bulldog hadn't taken my bag, I might've been able to eat a snack to keep me going. As it was, I was terrified I'd start throwing up soon. What would he do to me then?

_Joe, please—please come. I'm trying as hard as I can, but I need you. I love you, hubby._

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Ranger and I stood surveying Lil Conroy's backyard in the pouring rain.

"Any tracks have been washed away already," I spoke loudly, so that Ranger could hear me. The wind was fierce; the rain cold and nasty, although I didn't even feel the chill. My mind was completely consumed by Stephanie.

_Hang in there, Cupcake. I'm coming. I swear to God, I'll find you._

"It's like they've just disappeared," Ranger noted. "There has to be something. Keep looking."

Within minutes, Lula appeared, and she wasn't alone. Rogers had arrived, and to my surprise he had a handcuffed Brian Stampler with him. Even more surprising was the little old woman tagging along behind Lula. She was older than Grandma Mazur and from all appearances equally as eccentric. Wearing a bright orange rain poncho, she had on brown combat boots and a pith helmet as well.

_What the hell?_

Rogers was the first to speak, "Detective, I'd like a word please."

Jesus, I didn't have time for this political bullshit. _Could we please just get out there and start looking already_?

He must have read my mind, for he said in a sharper tone. "Detective Morelli—a word."

Gritting my teeth, I allowed training and discipline to take over. "Yes sir."

I followed him over to the other side of the yard, wiping the rain from my eyes as we walked.

"They're making progress over at the warehouse, but still have no definitive answer as to who shot and killed Meachum and his men."

I looked at him as though was stupid. "I think it's fairly obvious who did it, don't you?"

Tilting his head, he eyed me shrewdly. "It'd be easy to assume Bulldog killed them, but we can't assume. We have to prove. Paul was at that warehouse too, Morelli. Why would he be there unless he was involved somehow?"

"I don't know."

"Until we do, no assuming."

_Whatever. _Did the guy really think I even cared about any of this shit right now?

"Your turn—report," Rogers ordered. "Any signs?"

"No," I shook my head. Now that we were on-site, I found myself becoming slightly more focused and even more anxious to get moving.

"I thought it wise to bring Stampler," Rogers explained. "We may need him at some point to lure in Jackson."

"Manoso's having his man bring Jessie here as well for the same reason."

"Good." Rogers nodded.

"Who's the old lady?" I questioned.

"I'm not sure. I asked Manoso's woman, but she won't even look me in the eye."

One side of my mouth lifted. At any other time, the idea of Lula being Manoso's 'anything' would've been amusing. I imagine Lula had a severe case of hives developing from her encounter with Rogers. But not a single damned thing was funny to me. My skin was practically crawling with the need to get the search party going.

"Ranger has a team coming with supplies," I noted hurriedly. "We need to get into that swamp before dark." Looking around, I hastened to add, "And that'll be soon."

"I wish it would quit raining. It scares me to think of sending anyone out in that swamp."

_But it was okay for my wife to be out there? _Jesus, the guy was insensitive.

"I need to talk with Manoso," I said abruptly, beyond irritated. Turning to leave, Rogers put a hand on my arm.

"Morelli—Joe—back at the warehouse you said something to me after that little—uh—flashback of yours."

"Forget it." I shrugged his hand away.

"No. You said, 'I was there' to me. I was _where?_"

"Now is not the time, sir."

"I'm asking you a question, detective, and I expect an answer."

_Shit. _Looking him in the eye, I allowed him to see just how wild my feelings really were. "I'm asking you to let this go for now. I _need _to concentrate on finding my wife."

"Detective—"

"Goddamn it!" I spat the curse into his face. My patience for anyone and anything was done. "Are you that fucking insensitive? I don't care about _anything _other than finding Stephanie. What is so fucking hard for you and everyone else to understand about that? You want to know what I meant? I was talking about the fact you were there the night my brother killed my father. You were there when the pact was made to hide everything from me—to force me to forget the worst night of my life—to keep me in the dark forever. Well guess what? It didn't work! I do remember. I remember everything!"

His mouth dropped. "Joe—"

"No! I _don't _fucking want to do this right now. _Everyone_ needs to leave me the fuck alone. I _just _want to find my wife!"

I stormed away, completely out of control. I'd never been so fucking livid in my entire life. I was tired of living by the rules—tired of being what everyone else expected me to be—tired of fighting for the truth. The only truth I needed was the love I had with Stephanie.

I needed her more than my next breath.

_God, I'm begging you—please protect her and the babies._

I made a beeline for Ranger. "I'm done," I said roughly. "I don't care what you all do. I'm going in _now._"

He met my furious gaze calmly. "Morelli, I want you to meet Ermine Hostetler."

_What? What the fuck was he doing now?_

The little old lady who'd stood behind Lula earlier stepped forward from beneath an umbrella Lula had been holding over the both of them. "Pleased to meet you, Morelli." She shook my hand firmly.

"Who?" My brain couldn't even begin to comprehend—

"Ermine lives down the street from Lil. She's been a valuable contact for Lula and me this week, and she has some interesting information for us."

I growled in frustration. "Manoso, I don't have time for this shit—"

He continued to stare at me with that enigmatic expression he was always using. "I think you want to listen to her."

Ermine looked like the cat that'd swallowed the canary. "Yep, you definitely want to listen to me."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

It had to be getting close to five o'clock by now. The November sun, covered by storm clouds, was probably low in the sky. Full darkness would arrive soon and with it even greater danger. Thankfully the hard rain from earlier had subsided to a steady drizzle.

Tripping on a log, I stumbled to my knees and stayed there—too exhausted to move. My stomach rolled in response.

"Get up!" Bulldog ordered violently, tugging on my arm.

"I can't. You have to let me rest for a minute," I begged with a gasp. I held my stomach protectively. "I _have _to rest."

"Get your ass up off the ground—now!"

Taking hold of my elbow, he pulled me roughly to my feet. "They have to be here somewhere. I've seen smoke out here when I've been doing reconnaissance at night. It only looked to be about a mile or two from the Conroy place. We've gone further than that by now."

The way I felt we'd probably gone ten miles—all of them in circles.

"You should've brought a compass," I said mockingly. "Wait—I know—let's use your cell phone and call my husband. I think he was a Boy Scout—"

He snorted. "If your husband is anything like his brother, he was no Boy Scout. President of the Hoodlum Society maybe—"

"When do you think you might clue me in on what's really going on here?" I asked. I still hadn't moved, hoping that by distracting him I could get some rest and allow the search party to catch up. _If _there was a search party, and I prayed to God there was.

I wanted to see Joe more than at any other time in our lives. I wanted to hold him and tell him I loved him and our children with everything in me. I wanted to go see Mary Lou and make certain my best friend was okay, and then I wanted to go home and sleep for a thousand years.

"Quit stalling—move." Bulldog jabbed me with his elbow.

I'd long since stopped worrying about snakes, having finally convinced myself they had to all be in hibernation by this time of year. Quick sand was another matter. There was no path—at least not one we'd found yet. Every step was questionable. Once it was dark, every step would become potentially deadly.

Pushing some brush aside, I stepped forward gingerly. "You're a sick man, Bulldog. God will surely punish you for the way you're treating a pregnant woman."

"God will reward me for avenging those who slip through the legal system."

"What exactly does that mean anyway?" I asked in exasperation. "Do you see yourself as some sort of prophet or something?"

"Nope—just a man who's damned good at what he does."

"Which is?"

"Killing people."

_Why had I asked? _ I was beyond terrified. I'd seen true lunacy before. Abruzzi and Kennard had both been evil to the core, and this man was right up there with him.

I stopped again, and he about plowed into me from behind. "Why'd you stop?" he snarled.

"Because this is ridiculous. Neither one of us knows where we're going or what we're doing. We should go back."

He grabbed my arm and twisted it hard. "For the last time—shut the fuck up and move—now."

He gave me another shove, and I stumbled forward again. Only this time I didn't land on solid ground. Instead my feet landed in soft, shifting ground.

_Oh God—no!_


	18. Chapter 18

I do not own any of JE's characters.

It's 'Happy Friday' again! Insanely crazy week on my end, folks, but I tried my hardest to get you a chapter. The fact that I did was in large part to my fabulous Beta reader, Julie, who sacrificed time from her own story to help me out. Thank you, dear friend! You've been so faithful to me over the past many months. I'm so grateful.

Also, a HUGE congratulations to my other comrade in arms...Kimmy Girl! She's getting married tomorrow, folks! Give her some love and some good wishes, will you? Praying you'll be blessed in the years to come, girlie.

Thanks to ALL of you for the overwhelming feedback on the last chapter. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your support. Oh, and if you do leave me a message this time, I promise to respond, but I'm headed out of town for the weekend, so it won't be until Sunday night. Thanks and have a great weekend!

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

**Stephanie's POV**

I let out a shriek as my boots immediately began to sink in the mushy quicksand.

Arms flailing at my side, I screamed, "Omigod—help!"

Bulldog dropped the gun momentarily. Reaching out, he wrapped his meaty hands around my wrists and began to tug hard. The gooey mess had already risen to the tops of my boots, and still he heaved. Finally, after several powerful yanks, he managed to pull me clear out of my boots, setting me down unceremoniously onto the spongy, uneven terrain next to him.

Completely overwhelmed, I dropped to the ground and burst into angry tears. "Are you satisfied now, you maniac? My babies and I could've been lost in that shit!"

He quickly retrieved the gun and nudged me with his foot. Without a lick of emotion, he said, "Get up, Stephanie. I won't be _satisfied_ until we find Paul."

"Get up?" I looked up at him in total bewilderment; wiping tears and rain drizzle from my eyes. "I have _no shoes_! How the hell do you expect me to walk now? You need to go get help—" I was more tired than I'd ever been in my entire life and now shivering from being both wet and cold.

"Get your ass up off the ground and start walking," he ordered coldly. "We're not stopping until we find Paul."

I stayed where I was, once more hoping to buy time for the search party I prayed was already looking for me.

"We can't go forward. Who knows how wide and far this quicksand goes. Please—please can we turn back? I swear to you I'll find a way to get Paul to you—"

"Move it!"

Hooking his hand under my armpit, he hauled me to a standing position. My socks were soaked, and the rain had long since seeped through my jacket, jeans and shirt. While I was ravenously hungry, my stomach felt as though it could be sick at any moment. The shock of the quicksand along with the knowledge that my babies and I were in serious jeopardy had completely broken my will.

"Omigod—please no," I begged, staggering slightly. "I really don't feel well, Bulldog—"

He jerked me behind him, moving to the right of where I'd stepped into the quicksand. Every step was a minefield of pain, as my feet came in contact with scrub brush, twigs, soggy ground and rocks. We hadn't gone more than a hundred feet when I collapsed again.

Only this time I didn't get up.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Swiping at a drenched lock of hair on my forehead, I looked at Ermine impatiently.

"What? What is it I need to hear?"

She wasted no words. "My husband Ronald and Lil's grandfather Buford Conroy were best friends. This place here belonged to Buford and his wife Frieda. Lil inherited it when they both died about seven years ago. Of course Ron passed the year afterward, but—"

"Mrs. Hostetler—"

"Listen—" She waved her hand at me to be quiet. "I'm trying to tell you that Ronald and Buford had a hunting trailer together. They placed it a mile and a half out into the swamp about fifty years ago."

My eyebrows shot up. "How the hell did they get it out there?"

Her eyes glittered in the steady drizzle. A rumble of thunder could be heard about ten miles away, which meant we were due for another storm soon. God, I was literally going out of my mind thinking of Stephanie out there in the rain with a madman.

"It took 'em two years, but they forged a road through the swamp to their secret location."

"A road?"

She nodded, smiling at the skepticism in my voice. "About half a mile down from my place, there's a roped off entrance to the swamp. Since Ronald died, it's become overgrown with weeds and brush. You'd have to know it's there in order to use it. 'Course I have no idea what the condition of the road is after all these years, but it'll sure as heck be faster for all of you to use it rather than trying to go in behind Lil's place here."

"Did Lil know about the road?"

She shrugged. "Well, I don't know for certain, but I'd imagine her granddaddy would have told her at some point about it."

I looked beyond Ermine to exchange a look with Manoso. If Lil knew about the road and the trailer, it was entirely possible she'd told Tony and Paul about it. Perhaps she'd even suggested they stay in the trailer.

"The road will take you directly to the trailer," she continued, "although I have no idea what condition they're both in. I haven't seen either in almost ten years."

This was our first real break—and it was huge.

I couldn't resist leaning in and giving the old woman a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," I said sincerely, adrenaline rushing through my veins. "You may have just saved the day."

Even in the growing darkness, I could see her blush.

"There's more," Ranger spoke up. "As soon as Ermine saw Stampler, she claimed he was one of the men she's seen roaming around Lil's house here. She took another look at Bulldog's headshot and said the same for him too."

Ermine still looked flustered from the kiss. "I've seen some men with your same dark, good looks running around too."

Ranger frowned, "I thought you told me—"

"It wasn't until I saw Detective Morelli just now that it clicked. The men I saw had the same height and swagger as he does."

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Brett Rogers observing the exchange with a belligerent and smug Brian Stampler standing by his side. One look at Brian's face was enough to make me see red. Two steps, and I had the Newark cop's jacket in my fists.

"Where the fuck is my wife, Stampler. I know you're in on this with Jackson."

"Fuck you," he bared his teeth. "You know _nothing_."

My body was on emotional overload. Pure rage brought back my fist, and Rogers jumped in between us, giving me a slight push backward. "Stand down, Detective!"

"To hell with that! Look at him! He knows exactly what's going on—"

"That may be, but we're going to go about all of this by the book. You're not a one-man vigilante, Morelli. We _all _want to see Stephanie safely found. And, believe me, we'll use Stampler here to our best advantage with Jackson. Now that we know about the road, I'll have a SWAT team here in thirty minutes."

I shook my head furiously. "We don't have time, and I don't want a SWAT team. I want to do this quietly."

"Define quietly."

"Manoso and me. That's it," I declared boldly, completely out of control with worry over Stephanie and the babies.

"No."

"It's not a request. It's what's going to happen—with or without your support."

This only served to infuriate Rogers. "Goddamn it, Morelli—"

"Brett, can't you see the boy's as scared as a cat in a dog pound?"

We all turned to find Newark's Chief Reynolds standing about ten feet away next to Al Walker and Grady Schultz. Behind him was Manoso's man Bobby with a teenaged girl whom I assumed was Jessie Stampler, and behind _all _of them stood Dr. Cheryl Sullivan. The psychologist locked eyes with me and raised an eyebrow. I wasn't certain if the gesture was directed toward my outburst or Rogers' attitude.

I practically growled in frustration. Who would be next to show up—the Queen of England? With all of these people milling around, it was becoming a regular garden party out there behind Lil Conroy's place.

Rogers looked stunned and slightly embarrassed to have had one of his detectives question him in front of a colleague and a crowd.

"Bud," he acknowledged stiffly. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Your man Rodriguez called Al and told him Stampler had been apprehended, along with the fact that Morelli's wife had been abducted. We decided to race on over and see everything for ourselves." His eyes narrowed. "'Course it would've been nice to have that phone call come from you, _Chief_."

Trenton's chief of police looked even more uncomfortable. "I apologize. It's been—"

Reynolds eyed his counterpart shrewdly. "You're trying to throw a wide loop with a short rope, Brett. Give Morelli some grace here. The man's wife is out there somewhere being courted by a lunatic. It'd be enough to drive a lesser man to his knees."

The Texan moved closer to Stampler and stared him down. "Howdy Mr. Stampler," he greeted sarcastically, purposefully omitting his title of detective.

Stampler straightened himself to his full height. "Chief, thank God you're here. There's been a terrible misunderstanding." He tried to see his sister over Reynold's shoulder. "Jessie, are you alright—?"

"There sure as hell has been a misunderstanding," Reynolds agreed, shaking his head. "How the fuck you slipped through the cracks and into the Newark Police Force is the biggest mistake ever."

"Jessie—" Stampler ignored his superior and instead focused on the teenager who was shivering in the cold drizzle. She looked scared to death at seeing her brother, stepping further behind Bobby.

"Trying to talk to me right now would be as useless as tits on a bore hog, son," he said with deadly calm, his nose about two inches from Stampler's face. "We've got more important things to worry about right now. We'll deal with you later."

Turning toward me, Reynolds held out his hand. "Detective, you look about done in. Why don't you take a minute to breathe, and let's think rationally about this situation."

Rogers once again took umbrage with having his authority questioned. "I'm more than capable of leading this operation, Bud. After all—"

"I'm sure you can," Reynolds agreed smoothly. Removing his Stetson, he ran a hand through his gray hair before plopping it down again. "But I'm thinking maybe a neutral party should try to navigate these waters for a bit." He assessed me knowingly. "What is it you want, Detective? Quite honestly, the way you're acting makes a pressure cooker look calm."

I knew I needed to release the air from my 'pressure cooker', but I couldn't seem to find any semblance of patience. We'd wasted so much friggin' time already!

"I want to go into the swamp _now_, Chief. I don't want to think about it, talk about it, analyze it—whatever—any more. I simply want to get out there and find my wife."

He nodded sagely. "I understand. But throwin' your rope before you make a loop ain't gonna catch the cow."

_Huh? _I wished the guy would just speak plain English once in awhile.

He must have read my mind. "You need a plan, son. You won't catch this Bulldog character unless you have a strategy to do so. Now I heard you say you want to head off with someone by yourself. I can't say I cotton to that idea very much. How about we compromise with the team of folks we have right here—"

"Do you realize how much noise a group this large would make?" I demanded, getting irritated all over again. "Bulldog would sense our presence immediately. Who the hell knows what he'd do to Stephanie then!"

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"Chief Reynolds is right," I broke in for the first time since the place had become more crowded than an ant farm. _Shit. _Now I was even _sounding_ like the Texan cop.

It fucking near killed me to admit _any_ cop was right, but this cowboy from Newark at least seemed to have some common sense about him. Not like Rogers who was too busy throwing out political bullshit to really care about Stephanie's whereabouts.

Morelli opened his mouth to argue, and I quickly held up my hand. "I'm not saying the whole world needs to go, but we need to have a team and a plan."

Before my eyes, Morelli seemed to deflate. Gone was the macho, Italian cop. In his place was a husband heartsick over his wife. Who would've thought a week ago that I'd have the capacity to be affected by the sincerity and depth of his emotions?

I was all too afraid the answer had to do with the fact that the hair on the back of my neck had stood straight up the moment Cheryl Sullivan had joined the party. Refusing to make eye contact with her, I focused all my energy on getting Morelli to stop thinking with his heart and start using his head.

"Fine—I'll agree to a team, but I want you in charge," he said wearily. He looked at _both _chiefs of police defiantly but with a hint of pleading as well. "I don't care if it goes against protocol. I trust Manoso to help me find my wife. He has skills you don't have. That's all I care about. The rest is secondary at this point."

Another rumble of thunder—this one closer and louder—had us all checking the sky. We needed to hurry.

Rogers shook his head. "This is crazy—"

"Let him do it, Brett," Reynolds said quietly. "From what I've been told, Manoso is a mercenary, correct? Who better to find a mercenary than one of his own kind?"

While it rankled to be called a mercenary, particularly in front of Cheryl Sullivan—and I wasn't about to analyze the reason for that—once again Reynolds was right in his assessment. Nobody would be able to get into the mind of someone like Bulldog as well as me.

Rogers and I stared one another down for several chilly moments. I could see him warring within himself over whether or not to assert his authority. Finally, he took a step backward and said almost sarcastically, "The show is yours to run, _Mr. _Manoso."

Without even blinking, I held his gaze and began to bark out orders. "Lula, what's Tank's ETA?"

My protégé darted her eyes around at all the cops, but answered me with a clear voice, "He just texted me seconds ago. Five minutes. He's got Woody with him."

I nodded, still looking intently at Trenton's Chief of Police. "We need to keep this a tight group. I want Tank with me. We'll need Stampler and the sister, so one of you cops, besides Morelli, better come along to babysit. Lula, I want you too."

"Me?" she fairly squeaked, her eyes popping wide open.

"Yes," I returned in a tone that booked no argument. "With Morelli and me that puts us at seven people already—"

"Make it eight," Cheryl Sullivan stated firmly. "I'm going too."

Slowly my head swiveled, and I met the counselor's gaze for the first time since her arrival.

"No—"

"Detective Morelli needs all kinds of support right now, Mr. Manoso," she declared stoutly. "And I happen to provide a different, yet equally important, type of support. I'd like to go."

"We have no idea what kind of terrain is out there. It's no place for a woman—"

"Hey!" Lula exclaimed huffily, no longer caring about the cops. "_I'm _a woman too, you know."

"You're not only rude, but a chauvinist too?" Cheryl's eyes rolled. "Well isn't that just fitting. Air Force—four years, Army Boy. Believe me, I'm _more _than capable of taking care of myself."

Well that explained the martial arts she used on Deke Larson that night at The Pokey. What other secrets was the good doctor hiding?

"What about the girl?" she scoffed. "You really think it's smart to be dragging a teenager through a swamp?"

"I'm not a chauvinist," I finally managed to get a word in between her rants. "I'm simply stating a fact. And we need the girl."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bobby's mouth drop. Not only was my self-control legendary among my men, but also _no one_ ever questioned my authority, and now here I was allowing some white-collar therapist to get the best of my temper.

Dr. Sullivan continued to stare me down.

"It's Morelli's call," I finally said through gritted teeth.

Morelli gave me a funny look. He too had evidently noticed my slip.

"I want Cheryl there. Stephanie may need her as well."

"Fine. We leave as soon as Tank gets here with the supplies." I refused to look at Dr. Sullivan again.

"Just make it fast," Morelli ordered. "I want to get moving."

Gone was the momentary easing of his manic energy. He was running on all cylinders again—anxious to get moving.

"Which one of you is going?" I directed my attention to the cops in the group.

"Oh, it will most definitely be me," Rogers asserted. He was back to shooting daggers at me. Beside him Reynolds shook his head somewhat disgustedly.

_Fine. _I didn't care what the hell he did as long as he stayed out of my way. Morelli was right. It was way past time we got this search party moving.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

I opened my eyes to complete darkness.

_My God, was I dead?_

"Wake up," Bulldog's grating voice rang in my ear.

"Where—?"

He snorted. "Like you don't know where we are. Right! Fine, you want to play games? I'll play. We're in Paul and Tony's hideout—only the two fuckers ain't here. Happy?"

_We were where? What? How—?_

He read my mind. "I dragged you here. After you passed out, it wasn't more than five minutes east of the swamp that I stumbled over this here trailer."

_He dragged me? _No wonder every muscle in my body ached. Instinctively, my hands moved to rest on my abdomen. _Had it harmed the twins? _I was too tired to even assess my injuries. Weak from hunger, I realized I was shivering uncontrollably. My head felt fuzzy, and once again I was nauseous.

Slowly my eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I began to look around at my surroundings. The place was filthy. I was lying on a threadbare couch that had been chewed to pieces by mice, raccoons and other swamp creatures. The smell was enough to have me covering my nose and breathing through my mouth. I couldn't see much else, as it was now almost completely dark outside, and Bulldog hadn't found any source of light.

My stomach was beginning to really protest its lack of food—that along with the smell of the swamp and my new surroundings had it pitching wildly back and forth.

"I need to eat something soon," I spoke weakly. "Did Paul and Tony leave any food—?"

"You're not getting jack shit until I get my man," my captor announced coldly.

"But they're not here. Maybe they never were—"

"Oh, they were here, which means they're still around somewhere. And I'm gonna find them those two bastards."

Panic raced through my system. "What are you going to do?"

He reached into the pocket of his denim vest and pulled out a set of handcuffs. "I'm leaving you here, while I go out and take a look around."

"Wait!" While I definitely didn't want the man anywhere near my babies, or me, I also didn't want to be left alone in the middle of a swamp to die. "You can't leave me. Please—!"

A wave of dizziness overtook me as I fought to stay alert. Without warning, I began to gag and then expel what was left of my lunch with Mary Lou all over the floor beside the couch.

"Stupid bitch," he muttered.

Grabbing my wrists, he deftly handcuffed one of them to a metal rod protruding from the side of the trailer above my head. He shoved a bandana from his back pocket into my mouth and used what I assumed was the belt from his blue jeans to tie it down, seeing as I could smell the strong odor of leather beneath my nostrils.

"I'll be back," he said brusquely, pushing me roughly against the back of the couch.

I heard his footsteps leave the trailer, and I realized with horror that I was completely alone in the dark in the middle of nowhere. A large clap of thunder hit overhead, and, within moments, rain began to assault the top of the trailer.

The foggy feeling in my head was increasing every minute. _Did I have a fever? _Despite every intention to stay awake, I soon succumbed to the numbing comfort of darkness.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Fuck," I muttered, as the sky opened up and another torrential downpour swept over our makeshift group.

We were standing on the side of the road in the general vicinity of where Ermine had said the road supposedly began. So far nobody had been able to find the rope signifying the actual entrance. Of course it was hard to see anything in the dark, and now the rain was only going to make matters worse.

"Anything?" I asked edgily of Tank, who was using a large searchlight to comb the area.

He didn't respond, such was his concentration on the task before him.

I was about ready to crawl right out of my skin with nervous energy. It took every ounce of self-control I owned to not just charge right into the swamp. To hell with the goddamned road!

Manoso sidled closer. "Keep your cool," he muttered in an undertone. "He'll find it soon." Wiping at the rain running down his face, he continued, "I just got a text from Lester. Mary Lou's x-ray was negative for a fractured skull. She's still unconscious though. Now they're worried about hemorrhaging."

"Jesus," I said under my breath and then added with conviction, "That son of a bitch is going to pay, Ranger."

"Yes, he is," he agreed simply.

I noticed Cheryl watching me out of the corner of her eye in the dim glow cast from the searchlight. I'd yet to have a word in private with her yet about anything that had transpired that afternoon. God, it seemed like a lifetime ago I'd had the flashback about Tony and my father. And where were my brothers? If Stephanie had seen Tony here, they had to be around somewhere.

Glancing at Cheryl, she smiled encouragingly at me. Ranger caught the exchange and stiffened slightly.

"What's your problem with her?" I asked in an undertone, jerking my head slightly toward the psychologist. "You don't even know her."

"I have no problem," he denied, perhaps a tad to quickly.

"Is it all counselors in general or strictly her?"

"Let it go, Morelli."

"Gladly," I snapped. "Just don't get on her case. We need her here."

Once again, I was being forced to wait, and it was sapping every ounce of patience I had. It also gave me too much fucking time to think—about Stephanie and the babies, about the revelation about Tony and my father—

"I've got it!" Tank called out suddenly, once more shattering my helter-skelter thoughts.

Ermine hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said the entrance had become obscured by brush. Had she not told us about the road, I'd never have found it. As it was, there was no way we were just going to waltz through it and into the swamp. The damned thing looked almost impenetrable.

"Can you tell if someone else has been through there already?" I asked eagerly, thinking of my brothers.

"Nah—the rain has beaten everything down so much, you can't tell shit," Ranger's right-hand man responded, seemingly oblivious to the water practically drowning him. "But getting through all this is going to be a trick, let me tell you." He unsheathed a machete and began hacking at the brush.

If the entire road was in the same condition, we were doomed—as was Stephanie.

_Oh God. _I needed to stop thinking that way, but it was too fucking hard. This wasn't the first time I'd waited in the wings—not knowing if Stephanie was okay or not. She'd been in some insanely hellish predicaments as a bounty hunter, and every time I'd waited with my gut churning in its own acid and my heart practically pumping out of my chest.

But this—this was unlike any fear I'd ever known in my life. I'd finally been given the thing I wanted most in the world—Stephanie and a family, and now there was a chance I could lose them?

_Take whatever you want from me God. Just please don't take them. _

Fifteen minutes later Tank had cleared a path for us to enter through the brush into the actual swamp. Sure enough, on the other side, there was a dirt road. It was a muddy mess from the rain and had quite a bit of overgrowth of its own. Still it was _infinitely _better than having to try and go through it from behind Lil's house. Speaking of Lil, we'd seen no sign of the woman so far.

Now that we were finally moving, I breathed a small sigh of relief. Even though we were a long way from resolving the situation, I was doing something proactive.

_I'm coming, Cupcake. Hang in there._

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

My dreams were wild—a running montage filled with blurry images of my life with Joe Morelli played out in Technicolor.

Sometimes the memories were scary like remembering the day we'd been discovered by Joe's father in the Morelli garage. Funny how both Joe and I had managed to block the evil associated with that day. For years we'd remembered the more innocent aspects of it—in fact, had used it as part of our mating ritual when he'd first come back into my life three years ago.

Other images were hurtful. Despite the forgiveness we'd both given and received with one another, seeing myself standing behind the éclair case at the Tasty Pastry and watching Joe's retreating back was an ache that could still grip my subconscious. Equally painful was the knowledge of my lies and betrayal concerning Ranger. The distrust on both Joe's and my part could have easily destroyed any chance of a lasting future between us.

And yet the bulk of the images in my mind were beautiful and loving. In my sleep, I could feel Joe's arms around me on hundreds of occasions—making sure I wasn't hurt, cleaning me up following one disaster after another, assuring me of his love, and bringing my body to life with a depth of desire only he could ignite.

My subconscious played back the look on his face when he'd watched me walk down the aisle in Barbados.

"_There are no words, Cupcake. You defy anything I could have ever imagined."_

Or the passion on his face when he'd entered me for the first time as my husband that night in our hotel room.

"_I belong to you."_

We _did _belong to one another. We'd persevered through some of the darkest days imaginable only to come out stronger, more in love and more connected than we could've ever imagined. Our babies would only reinforce the bond even more.

_Our babies._

Oh God—our babies! I needed to open my eyes. I needed to get help. Where was I again? Why was I so cold one minute and yet burning hot the next?

Bulldog!

That's right. He'd taken me. Jesus, someone help me wake up. Joe, can you hear me? I'm screaming for help! Where are you? The babies and I need you. I can't wake up. Please hurry. I can't wake up!

I knew I was no longer dreaming, but I couldn't seem to make my eyelids open. My mouth was like sandpaper, and I felt the gagging sensation in the back of my throat once more. _No! _I couldn't get sick—not with my mouth covered the way it was. Frantically, I breathed through my nose, trying to force myself to calm down. If only I could open my eyes. If only everything wasn't so foggy and dreamlike.

I must've slipped back into darkness for when I became aware again, I heard noises—footsteps and hushed voices.

_Joe!_

Too weak to do anything more than moan, I could barely even hear myself.

Suddenly I heard a door open.

"I'm telling you we should never have come back here. They're all up there at Lil's place right now trying to figure out where to find us."

My heart sunk. It wasn't Joe, but wait—the voice was similar. Was it—could it be _Paul?_

"Nobody's going to come into this swamp at night, Paulie. Use your head. Nobody knows about the road except for us."

"I _am_ using my head—finally. This thing has gone on long enough. God, look at you! You're a damned mess. Are you sure you didn't break your leg?"

"I told you it's just badly sprained."

_It WAS Paul—and Tony too. I'm here—boys—I'm right here. Help me!_

"What the hell were you thinking leaping off the embankment like that. You could've been killed!"

"I told you—Stephanie was about ready to apprehend me. I needed to make sure you were okay after your meeting with Meachum."

_Why couldn't they see me? I was right there. _

"Christ, you're just lucky I found you. How the hell you managed to drag yourself over near the road is a fucking miracle. We need to do something to clean up that gash in your leg, but we've got nothing to do it with."

_Was I dreaming again? Why was it still so dark? Were my eyes open or closed? _

"Where's the flashlight, Paulie? It's pitch black in here, and something smells. I'll see if I can find the matches and light a couple of candles. We need to start a fire too—"

"We can't start a fire, you idiot. They'll see it from Lil's place."

"In this rain? No way—and we need to get warm. Jesus, I wish we had something to eat. Why didn't you bring something?"

"I was a little busy running for my life, Tony. Jesus Christ!"

"Yeah, so tell me what happened at the warehouse—"

"_Mmmmmmm Mmmmmmm." _I tried again to make some sort of noise with my throat.

"Shush! What the hell was that?" Paul demanded hoarsely.

"I don't know. Where's the flashlight?'

"I'm looking. Fuck, do you think it's some kind of raccoon or skunk?"

"I _said _I don't know! Goddamn it, where's that flashlight? Wait—here it is. Alright, let's see what we're dealing with," Tony groused.

A single beam illuminated the trailer.

_Oh thank God—I was awake. And help was here!_

"_Mmmmmmm Mmmmmmmm," I muttered._

The beam fell up on the couch where I lay.

"Jesus Christ, Paulie! It's Steph!" Tony shouted.

"What? Holy fuck!"

They both moved to my side.

"She's handcuffed to the wall," Paul announced grimly.

"Look at the scratches on her, and she's puked too. It's all over the floor. Watch your step."

"Shit, she's gagged too. Hold the light steady while I get this belt unbuckled."

"How in the hell did she get here? I just fucking saw her this afternoon up at Lil's. Do you think she followed me into the swamp when I jumped?"

"Right, and she just happened to handcuff herself to the wall. Don't be an ass, Tony."

Paul finally loosened the belt and pulled the bandana from my mouth."

"Bull…dog," I managed to get out in a raspy voice. "Nearby. Help."

"Oh fuck—are you _kidding_ me?" Paul exclaimed agitatedly, running a hand through his drenched curls so like my husband's.

_My husband. _

_Joe, I need you._

"Who's Bulldog?" Tony wondered.

Paul looked scared to death. "That's the guy that was at the warehouse this morning when I got there. I have no idea who the fuck he is, but he's tied into all of this somehow."

"Are you hurt, beautiful?" Tony asked kindly. Thank God he was still sober, and for once, I didn't feel the creepy crawly feeling I typically did of late when he was near me. His face was sincerely concerned.

"We need to get this handcuff off of her," Paul said determinedly.

"How the fuck are we going to do that? We have no tools of any kind," Tony retorted.

"Well, we have to try something! Is there a rusty nail we can use to pry it open or something heavy we can beat against the chain—?"

"And risk pounding her wrist instead? You're crazy."

"I want Joe,"I mumbled agitatedly with my eyes closed. I could hear my brothers in law. I just couldn't seem to become coherent enough to talk with them.

"She looks bad," Paul whispered worriedly.

Tony felt my forehead. "Ah shit, Paulie—she's burning up with fever."

The hazy, dizzy feeling was back. "The babies—" I whispered.

"She's dehydrated," Paul pronounced. "She needs water—"

"Well we don't _have _any water—or food. _You _were supposed to stop and get some from Lil!"

"Would you get off my fucking back already? You have no idea what I saw today at that warehouse, and there was a yard full of cops at Lil's. I think Joe's with them."

_Joe! Oh please, Joe. Come get me. _I was in and out of consciousness all the time now, only hearing bits and pieces of the conversation around me. My single thought was of being back in Joe's arms. He'd take care of our babies and me.

"I'd know what happened at the warehouse if would you'd just tell me!"

"Jesus, lay off! Can't you see Joe's wife needs help? What can we do?"

"I think there might be some Wild Turkey in the bedroom—"

"Wild Turkey! Are you a fucking idiot?" Paul hollered. "You can't give whiskey to a pregnant woman!"

"I know that—stop yelling at me! I'm just saying if we're desperate—"

"Bull…dog. Danger," I warned again weakly. _They needed to stop talking._

"What are we going to do?" Tony asked worriedly. "All those cops up at Lil's must be the search party for Steph, although how the hell she got hooked up with this Bulldog character is another story." He tapped my cheek lightly. "Steph, can you hear me? Who is Bulldog beautiful? Do you know?"

I could barely think let alone have a lengthy conversation. "Bounty hunter—Stampler's uncle. Found me at Paul's house," I croaked. "Jessie there too. Bulldog hit Mary Lou. Took me."

"What? Jessie was at my house?" Paul's voice quivered. "Is she all right?"

_Had I heard right? Not where's my wife? How are my kids? Just—is my seventeen year old mistress doing okay?" _Thank God, I'd married the 'best of the Morelli's'.

"We need to get her help—now," Paul interrupted harshly. "She's not well, Tony. Christ, she doesn't even have any shoes. I think she may be going into shock. Let me grab a blanket from the bedroom."

He took the flashlight, leaving Tony and me in the dark for a few moments.

"We'll get you out of here, Stephanie, believe me," Tony whispered into the quiet stillness.

Paul returned and put a heavy blanket over me.

Studying the handcuffs again, Tony commented, "There's no fucking way we can break these. We've got nothing out here to use."

"We also have no way of defending her or ourselves if Bulldog comes back."

"We've got fists, haven't we?"

"Yeah, but I know he has a gun for sure," Paul countered. "Probably a knife too, and who the fuck knows what else. You think two pairs of fists are going to stop that?"

"How do you know he has a gun?"

Paul hesitated. "Because I think he killed Meachum, Malone, Gambino and Herrick. God, probably Myra too."

_Bulldog killed Meachum? Had I heard right again? _My head, which had already been spinning, whirled even faster at the notion. No wonder he'd been ready to kill me in a heartbeat.

"What?" Tony asked, completely stunned.

He paused again. "When I got to the warehouse this morning, they were all dead, and Bulldog appeared out of nowhere, claiming he was there to take me down. He fired a single shot off at me—and missed."

"What the fuck did you do?"

"I ran like hell. What do you _think _I did, idiot?"

"I still say we can take him down. One of us distracts him and the other gets the gun and beats the shit out of him."

"And where does that leave, Steph?" Paul reminded his brother. "She's bad off, Tony. I'm not doctor, but I can see it. She's damn near delirious. If she loses those babies, Joe will _never _forgive us."

It was Tony's turn to be quiet for a moment.

"I'll go find, Joe," Paul declared.

_YES! Find Joe. _I prayed with all my heart that Tony would listen. Opening my mouth to speak, nothing came out, and I realized I wasn't even truly awake. Was a dreaming all of this?

"No! Are you fucking insane? They'll arrest you on the spot. Probably Joe will do it himself. That is if you even get there. What if you veer off the road and into quicksand?"

"What else do you suggest then?" he wondered in frustration. "We've hit the end of the line, Tony. We can't run anymore. Besides, after what happened at this morning at the warehouse, it's no use anyway. I'm going to prison."

"Don't _say _that!"

"We don't have time to fight right now," Paul insisted. Looking down at the flashlight in his hand, he said, "I'm going to have to leave you in the dark. I'll need this to make certain I can find the road in this storm. I wouldn't use the candles here either. Don't take any chance on having Bulldog know you're here. Better yet—look around and see what you can find to defend yourselves against him. I'll head back to Lil's and contact Joe by phone."

"Maybe he's still at Lil's—"

"No. There's no way _anyone_ would be stupid enough to enter the swamp in this kind of weather."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

The storm was wicked. Gale force winds practically blew us off the path. Sheets of rain had us so soaked and shriveled, we'd have to cut off our clothes when all was said and done. It was as if Mother Nature was mirroring the insanity of our mission. This wasn't the first time I'd worked in weather like this, but I'd forgotten how fucking nasty it truly could be.

Our team—such as it was—made its way slowly along the fairly clear, but now muddy road. We'd probably gone less than half a mile in close to an hour—mostly due to the force of the storm. Of course the size of our group and the supplies we were carrying didn't help either. Thank God, Tank's forethought had resulted in his bringing multiple sizes of rain suits and boots, although the rain had already saturated both.

Morelli was on point in the front of the pack. I'd given him the position simply to give his nervous energy an outlet of some kind. Tank and Lula were right behind him, followed by Rogers who was flanked by Stampler and Jessie. Cheryl Sullivan and I brought up the rear.

Neither of us had spoken a word since we'd left the main road just past Ermine's house. In fact, the whole search party was silent, hoping to avoid detection as much as possible—for all the good that did. Ten mostly untrained people stomping through a swamp was like a herd of elephants no matter which way you cut it.

Speaking of trained—Cheryl had shocked the hell out of me with her little announcement that she'd served four years in the Air Force. Doing what? Had she been a shrink then too? Or maybe she'd done intelligence work? Shit, I was back to thinking about her, and that was the _last _thing I wanted to do.

But she certainly was intriguing.

"Keeping up okay, Zoomie?" I couldn't resist muttering sarcastically beneath my breath.

"Doing just fine, Grunt," she tossed back determinedly.

"I wasn't a Grunt."

"Oh, excuse me—Mr. GI!"

"Ranger will suffice."

"Terrific. How about you concentrate on your job then, _Ranger,_ and let me do mine," she noted brusquely, like she couldn't be bothered by me. _Why in the fuck was that such a turn-on?_ "Seems like we both have enough to do without—"

A huge bolt of lightening flew out of nowhere and split right through one of the few giant trees growing in the swamp.

_Shit._

"Oh my God!"

"It tore the tree in half!"

"Watch out!'

"It's coming down!"

"Take cover!"

It was chaos. Torn between ensuring Cheryl's safety and helping Rogers, who was clearly struggling with his two charges, I moved forward to pull a handcuffed Stampler out of the way. Tank shielded Lula with his body. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cheryl dive for the side of the road.

Above us, you could hear the tree literally splitting apart. As if in slow motion, we all watched, mouths agape, as half of the tree toppled across the road in front of us.

"Is everyone all right?" I yelled out.

"I'm okay."

"We're here."

"Jesus Christ, Manoso—what now?" For once Rogers' normally hothead sounding subdued.

"Calm down, everyone. Be quiet! You're already giving away our cover. You need to shut up—now!"

Rogers was on his feet with his arm around a visibly terrified Jessie Stampler. She looked like a drowned rat—and sickly too. I felt like shit for having brought her out in this mess to begin with.

"Tank—report!"

"We can't walk around it," my best friend called back. "It's stretched too far off both sides of the road. We'll have to cut our way through."

_Fuck! _We'd brought a chain saw with us for this very reason, but not even counting the time it would take to cut our way through, it was the noise I was concerned about. We'd successfully managed to give Bulldog plenty of warning we were coming.

How would Stephanie suffer as a result? My heart beat harder at the thought of Babe in mortal danger, but years of training had me once more blocking the unthinkable images from my mind.

"I've got a place here that doesn't look as thick," Tank announced, flashing the searchlight around toward the top of the tree.

"We'll take turns. Morelli, you go first," I ordered. He'd been awfully quiet throughout this whole crisis, and I knew he had to be frustrated beyond hell at this latest setback. Just as I'd given him the position of 'point' to combat his nervous energy, having him attack the tree with a chain saw would be an equally helpful outlet.

Silence met my response.

"Morelli!"

"Joe!" Rogers called as well.

Nothing.

"Omigod—is Officer Hottie hurt?" Lula asked panicked. "Is he crushed beneath the tree?"

Jessie Stampler burst into tears.

Cheryl Sullivan approached me and said quietly, "I saw him move fast before I dove for the edge of the road. I don't think he's under the tree."

My gut clenched, kick-starting my own intuition. She was right.

"He's not anywhere here that I can see," Tank announced, still flashing the light.

"Where the fuck is he then?" Rogers asked, completely disgusted.

I shared a look with Dr. Sullivan.

"He's gone rogue," I said in a chilling voice.

_God damn it!_


	19. Chapter 19

I do not own any of JE's characters.

No happy Friday this week, folks, because...

IT'S HAPPY THURSDAY!

Hope you are all doing well. Welcome home to newlyweds Kimmy Girl and her handsome husband. Here's a belated gift for you!

Thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter, especially to the new faces who added their voices. You all just rock! Speaking of rockin', my fabulous Beta reader Julie rocks it out every chapter for me. Thanks so much, my friend, for all that you do over and over again each time.

Enjoy the rest of your week!

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

**Ranger's POV**

"_What!"_

Rogers approached me angrily, half-dragging a still handcuffed Stampler behind him. The fury of the storm matched the look on his face, his normally well coiffed hair plastered to his head from the rain.

"What the fuck does Morelli think he's doing!" he yelled, waving his free hand wildly. "He'll get himself killed and likely Stephanie too!" He made a jerky motion toward Tank. "Get your man to cut through that tree _now_. We haven't a second to waste."

Apparently, the chief felt he was back in charge now that Morelli had disappeared.

"We'll _all _take turns getting us through that tree," I spoke calmly. Whether or not he could hear me over the wind was questionable, however the look on my face was not. I wasn't about to bend to his authority—not now.

Turning away dismissively, I nodded at Tank, who fired up the gas-powered chain saw and went to work. Hopefully we had enough fuel to at least give us some way either around or through the damned thing.

Cheryl Sullivan appeared next to me. Her face had several scratches on it from the dive she'd taken when the tree had come down. It seemed almost criminal to have such classic beauty harmed—_not _that I thought she was beautiful or anything.

Without thought I reached out to trace a finger over one of the longer scratches, feeling the warmth of her petal-soft skin despite the rain and cold.

"You okay?" I asked in concern.

Those uniquely golden eyes of hers widened in surprise, glowing with a newfound awareness toward me, and I mentally kicked myself. Pulling my fingers away as if they'd been burned, I shoved them into the pocket of the rain jacket I was wearing.

She chose to ignore the physical spark and concentrated on my question instead, answering somewhat warily, "I'm fine. What can I do to help?"

"Nothing. The men will handle it," I responded curtly.

The reckless comment had done its job. The glow in her eyes was immediately extinguished.

"Well, isn't that just kind of you," she drawled, rolling her eyes. I guess Lula and I'd better head out then and round up some wooly mammoth drumsticks to soothe the caveman hunger you're likely to have when you're finished!"

_God, she really was an irritating little thing._

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jessie Stampler huddled next to Lula on the side of the muddy trail near where Tank was working. Lula was holding the searchlight for Tank, looking as though she'd rather be anywhere but there in the swamp with us. And yet she hadn't complained. My protégé was making me proud. Jessie, on the other hand, was merely standing there, clutching a worn backpack against her chest beneath her rain jacket and looking both terrified and exhausted.

Jerking my head toward her, I said to Cheryl, "If you really want to help, go talk to the girl. We need her to stay strong."

Cheryl's eyes followed and nodded. "I can do that. She looks sort of strung out."

"Probably," I agreed. "Who knows when the last time she had a hit of some kind?"

She shook her head disgustedly. "It breaks my heart." She moved to leave, and I put a hand out to stop her. Looking up at me inquisitively, she asked, "What's wrong now?"

"Morelli."

"What about him?"

I hated sounding too concerned, but unfortunately I _was _concerned. "In your professional opinion, what do you think is going on with him mentally?"

"Mr. Manoso—"

"Ranger."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Manoso, GI, Ranger—whatever name you want—I can't break confidentiality—"

"And I'm not asking you to," I retorted. "I have a pretty good idea what's driving him right now, but I need you to confirm my suspicions."

"Why?" she demanded, narrowing her gaze.

"Because it's my job to make sure this mission succeeds, and that includes watching out for his neck—"

"It's not your job," she argued coolly. "You're not a member of law enforcement. Why are you feeling so compelled to do this?"

"I don't feel _compelled_. I simply started something with Morelli, and I want to see it through. Besides, Stephanie—"

"Is this about her?" she asked, never breaking eye contact with me.

It took everything within me not to start squirming. _Damn it—how did she DO that? _"No—yes—I mean—" I took a deep breath and exhaled determinedly. "Look, I don't know what Morelli's told you, and I don't care." _Liar. _"Yes, I care about Stephanie very much, but I know what my boundaries are. And if Morelli is what she wants, then it's my job to make certain he doesn't kill himself going off half-cocked—"

"Would _you_?"

"Excuse me!"

"Would you go off half-cocked?" she continued, her eyes glowing again.

"I don't do anything half-cocked," I shot back coolly.

The corners of her mouth lifted. "Of course not. But if Stephanie were yours, would you let _anything _stand in your way of finding her?"

No. God no. I would've been long gone already. That's what was eating at me—the fact that I couldn't help but feel respect and a certain level of relief that Morelli loved Stephanie with the depth of love she deserved. He _was _doing exactly what I would've done. Consequently, my role in her life had diminished even further.

And Cheryl Sullivan knew it.

She surprised me by putting her hand on my arm. "Ranger, I don't know you at all, but from what I've seen, you're no mercenary—at least not now. It's clear you care for _both _Stephanie and Joe. There's nothing wrong with that. The world is not going to come to an end if you allow yourself to be human once in awhile with your emotions."

"Don't analyze me!" I burst out, not quite certain if I was angry or nervous.

"I'm not. That's simply an outsider's perspective." She smiled, and despite her bedraggled appearance from the storm, she was indeed stunningly beautiful. "To answer your question, Joe is under tremendous strain right now _outside _of the stress he's already experiencing over Stephanie and his brothers."

_I know._

She didn't elaborate, nor did I let on to her that I already knew his personal struggles—probably more so than she did right now, seeing as I was the only one to whom he'd confessed that last flashback.

"He's reached the end of what he can mentally handle. He'll stop at _nothing _to save his wife and children at this point. _But_—" she added intensely, "he's also an excellent cop. My professional opinion is that he won't let raw emotion override his training and discipline. He _will _get the job done."

_She was right_. I gave a single nod. "I agree, but he has no idea who he's up against. He's going to need help."

"Then I think perhaps it's time you and I get down to work, so we can help him."

She moved to assist Jessie, leaving me standing there in the pouring rain. I hoped she was right about Morelli keeping his cool.

But I knew men like Bulldog. Hell, at a time in my life, I'd _been _like Bulldog out of necessity for my country. My gut told me Morelli and Stephanie would both need me before this thing was through.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Using the flashlight Ranger had given me to lead the team, I continued to slip and slide my way down the road toward the trailer.

As soon as someone had called out that the tree was about to come down, I'd surged forward; knowing there was a good chance we'd be delayed once it fell. I hadn't even stuck around to hear if anyone had been hurt, and had surprisingly done so without a moment's hesitation or guilt. Instinctively, I knew that Stephanie was in serious danger. There simply was no more time to wait.

Without having to wait for the rest of the team to keep up, I was able to make much faster time through the swamp. My need to see Stephanie—to hold her and make certain she was okay—was driving me beyond any lack of physical endurance.

_But what would I do if I got to the trailer and found no one?_

My pulse raced in response to the thought. The idea was simply out of the question. If Stephanie wasn't there, that meant she was still out somewhere in the swamp with Bulldog—in the rain and cold. The thought of her having had to endure the storm that'd just passed through while exposed to the elements was almost more than my mind could handle.

_Had he given her an extra coat? Did she have any food? _Her purse had been at Paul's house with Mary Lou and Jessie, which meant she didn't have her snacks with her—or her Zofran. _How long before she'd start throwing up?_

The wind began to ease its howling through the trees. Thank God for Ermine and her knowledge of the road I was on. For not having seen much use in seven years, it was in relatively good condition once off from the main street near Ermine's house. Thankfully I didn't have to use a knife or other tool to cut through brush as Tank had been forced to do by the entrance. Seeing all of the brush and muck around me, I couldn't imagine wandering around in a swamp without the relative security of a path. Knowing that Stephanie more than likely hadn't had my same privilege frightened me even more, and my paced quickened in response.

_Please God, I know I keep asking for favors here, but my wife and babies really need you right now. Help me find them._

I had no idea how far I'd traveled, but a quick illumination of my watch showed it was nearly eight o'clock. It felt as though a hundred years had passed since I'd last seen my wife. Despite the growing lateness, I vowed even yet that night we'd sleep in one another's arms.

In the distance, a warm glow of some sort came toward me. It appeared to be another flashlight, and I quickly turned off mine. _Was it Bulldog? _Whoever it was seemed to be moving at a good clip and was familiar with the road.

I slid as far off to the side of the path as I dared and pulled my gun from the waistband of my jeans. Closer and closer the figure came toward me; darting all over the place to stay on the firmest ground possible. Cocking my gun, I put my body in a 'ready stance'. _Ten…five…three...one—_

_Oomph!_

Leaping forward, I brought the man down in one smooth motion, immediately placing the gun next to his temple. It was almost impossible to see who it was in the dark, but the size of the body felt familiar—not short and stocky like Bulldog's.

I bent down low. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Joe?" came the winded reply.

_Paul._

Anger instantly surged through me.

"Where the fuck have you been?" I demanded harshly. Standing, I jerked him to his feet and flipped the flashlight's beam into his face. "Never mind. We don't have time. Where's Stephanie," I continued urgently. "Have you seen her?"

"At…the…trailer," Paul gasped, still out of breath from having navigated the muddy road so quickly as well as having been tackled by me. "With…Tony."

"Tony!" I exclaimed, unwelcomed doubt filling my senses. _Oh God, had I been wrong all this time? _Was Tony somehow in on all of this?

Paul must've sensed the reason for my panic, for he jumped in, "We found her about twenty minutes ago—alone."

"Alone? Where's Bruce Jackson?"

"Who?"

"Bulldog," I modified impatiently.

"The bounty hunter, right?" Paul wheezed. "I don't know."

I had so many questions, but first I had to know. "Is Stephanie okay?"

He paused a fraction too long, and instantly I knew she wasn't. Grabbing onto the front of his jacket, I hauled him closer. "What's wrong?" I demanded frantically. "Is it the babies?"

"I—I don't know," Paul stammered. "Like I said, we just found her a short time ago. She was passed out—probably from dehydration. I think she has a fever, but I'm not sure. She feels like she's burning up though. She's kind of loopy too—you know—sort of in and out of it all the time."

_Oh God. _"Has she said anything?"

"She was able to get out the fact that this Bulldog character is evidently Stampler's uncle, and that he hurt Mary Lou somehow when she and Steph were trying to help Jessie. Mostly she just keeps asking for you."

His words pierced my heart.

"How far away are we?" I ordered, taking a step in the direction of the trailer. "Take me to her."

"Wait!" Paul grabbed my shoulder.

The frustration and anxiety I'd been forced to temper over the last several hours rolled out of me like a tidal wave. "No—goddamn it!" I shouted, shoving my brother backward three feet with the force of my anger. "I'm _through _waiting. Where is she, Paul!"

"I didn't say I wouldn't take you to her," he shot back. "I'm simply saying we need to think."

"We'll think on the way. Let's go already!"

We began to move in the direction of the trailer.

"How far?" I asked, becoming more focused by the minute. Now that the moment had arrived, my brain was finally engaging into cop mode.

"About a half-mile."

Good. That meant Ranger and the rest of the team were only about a mile away. If they could get through the tree fairly quickly, he'd be right behind me, although I had no plans to wait for him. My greater concern right was trying to anticipate how Bulldog's mind worked. _What could I do to get him to release Stephanie? Was he truly a vigilante or just plain crazy?_

"How's Jessie?" Paul wondered, as he slogged along beside me through the mud. "Stephanie couldn't tell me."

_Was he serious? _"The better question would be, 'how's your _wife'. _Remember her? The one who had to flee town with your children thanks to your stupid actions."

"Don't judge me," he snapped.

Thunder rolled in the distance from the storm that had just passed through. Although it was still raining, the swamp was becoming quieter without the force of the wind, and I lowered my voice.

"It's hard not judge, Paul, when you and Tony continually keep making such stupid ass choices. Why didn't you do as I told you last Sunday and have Tony at the preliminary hearing on Monday morning? Why've you been hiding all this time? Did you have anything to do with Myra's death? And what about the deal at the warehouse—how did you know to be there? Did you kill Meachum too?"

"Jesus, no! How can you even think that?" He sounded insulted.

"I don't know _what _the hell to believe anymore," I shot back, my temper rapidly reaching its breaking point. My fist itched to connect with his face after all the trouble he'd caused our family, including Stephanie, by acting like my father.

_My father._

I shook my head hard twice to knock his unwanted image right out of my head, but my brothers' opinions remained.

Mixed in with my rage was an element of betrayal. "Obviously you and Tony don't trust me—"

Paul stopped dead in his tracks. "_Of course _we trust you. Why would you think we don't?"

Bitterness and confusion churned in my gut. I couldn't afford to allow the horrors of my childhood to interfere with the _only _task at hand—finding Stephanie.

"Never mind," I growled. "Let's go."

He refused to move. "When I found Tony this afternoon after he leaped from the embankment, he said Steph had told him you were starting to remember things. What things?" he asked warily.

"Either move or I'm going without you," I responded viciously and took off fuming down the trail. We didn't have time for this bullshit.

He was behind me within seconds. "Joey, I asked you a question."

"And I heard you!" I shouted, beyond livid and forgetting to be quiet. "But I refuse to talk about anything other than finding Stephanie right now. Don't you see what your actions have resulted in? My _wife _and _children _may be dead because of your poor choices!"

Risking a glance at him in the near total darkness, I saw his face was turned away from me.

"Everything else can wait," I said coldly.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"Joe?"

"Shhh, Steph, it's me—Tony. You've got to be quiet, okay? We can't take a risk on Bulldog hearing us," he whispered, brushing the hair off of my face. "Just hang in there, beautiful. Joe will be here soon."

"Where—"

I groggily tried to lift my head from where it lay. _Where the heck was I, and_ w_hy was my arm so sore?_

"You're in a trailer back in the swamp behind Lil Conroy's house. Remember?"

The swamp.

Bulldog.

Immediate terror ripped through my system. Bulldog had brought me there. He'd chained me to the wall like an animal.

_Where was Bulldog? And who was talking to me? Tony? Wasn't I supposed to be afraid of him? _My teeth chattered uncontrollably. _Why was I so cold one minute and hot the next?_

_Where was Joe?_

"My babies—"

"You got to be quiet, Steph," the voice beside me in the dark begged hoarsely. "I've got nothing to protect us with other than my fists, and that won't do us much good against a gun."

_A gun. _Bulldog had a gun. He'd hurt Mary Lou.

_Mary Lou!_

Oh God, if only I could get my brain to focus. Everything was so hazy. One minute I was conscious and the next completely out of it again. I had to be sick—brought on by the rain and having been dragged through the swamp without any shoes. My babies were suffering as a result. I knew that.

"I'm really sorry for this mess Paul and I have caused," the voice said even more quietly.

_It WAS Tony._

"Trust Joe," I mumbled incoherently.

"Yeah," Tony agreed regretfully. "You're right. I should've trusted Joey. I've spent my whole life protecting that kid, Steph. It's hard to see him as a man. But he is a man—a good one." His voice choked slightly. "Goddamn it—he's the best of the Morelli's."

"No," I shook my head weakly. "He just wants to be _one _of the Morelli's. Trust him."

"What do you mean?" he asked confusedly.

_What DID I mean? Was I talking out loud or was I hallucinating? _Somehow I found the strength to continue. "No more secrets. Joe needs the truth." My throat was so dry it hurt to talk.

"Well, he can't have it."

"Why?"

"You don't understand. Promises were made—"

"Who?"

"Never mind. We need to keep quiet. Bulldog can't hear us."

"So unfair and cruel not to tell him. "

"You have no idea what cruelty is, Stephanie." This time his voice was tight, hardened by years of abuse. "Your children will never know what it's like to have their father hate them."

_My children. Dear God, please let our children be okay. _Placing my free hand on my belly, I began to rub gently and protectively.

"My arm—" I moved the one chained to the wall ineffectively.

"I know. There's nothing I can do about it though. I'm sorry. Paul's gone to find Joe. Hopefully they'll be back—"

"Bulldog?"

"He's out looking for Paul."

Whimpering slightly, I tried to shift into a more comfortable position. "So thirsty."

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't have anything other than whiskey."

"Drink too much."

"You're lecturing again."

"Angelina—"

"Stop. I don't need this shit, Steph—not now."

"But—"

Suddenly a gunshot rang out through the night. Not even the ferocity of the storm could dull its unmistakable sound.

Tony stiffened beside me in the dark. "What the hell—"

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

Tank's head shot up. He'd just stopped the chain saw for us to clear more of the brush away when the gunshot had sounded. His gaze met mine in concern, while my heart thudded like a bass drum in my chest.

"What the hell was that?" Rogers called out from where he stood with Stampler.

"How far?" I asked Tank as quietly as possible, ignoring Rogers. My question was really more for show. I already knew damned well how close that shot had been, but the last thing I wanted to do was cause a panic.

"Less than a mile."

"Right."

_What the hell had happened?_

"Oh Lawd," Lula fretted nearby.

She'd been unusually quiet since we'd arrived at Lil's place hours ago. I'd half-expected her to bitch and moan her way through the swamp, but surprisingly she'd kept her mouth shut and had done anything Tank had asked of her.

"Manoso, what the fuck is going on?" Rogers continued to pester. _Jesus, if this was the best Trenton could do for a police chief, the city was in trouble._

"How much longer?" I asked Tank, trying to remain calm and focused. Inside I was ready to fly. It was killing me not to be on the hunt with Morelli—not to be the one to protect Stephanie.

"I'm close," was his reply. "Maybe five to ten minutes." He too sounded anxious.

"Good work," I praised. Walking over to where Lula stood holding the searchlight, I put my hand on her shoulder. "You all right?"

"Sure, boss man," she answered tiredly, her eyes not quite meeting mine. Like the rest of us, she was a dripping mess. "What do ya think that gunshot was?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But Tank's almost through the tree. We'll get to the trailer as fast as we can."

"How can you be so calm?" she demanded. "That's _Stephanie _out there!"

My heart continued to pound. "Believe me, I know that. But getting hysterical isn't going to help matters any." Watching her look around nervously, I asked again, "You sure you're okay? This isn't exactly what you signed up for as an apprentice—"

"I didn't _sign up_ for nothin'," she reminded me. "Vinnie volunteered me to get trained in bounty hunting, and _you _volunteered me for this little adventure, remember?"

"I remember. You want to go back?"

"Hell no—I want to get out there and kick Bulldog's ass!" she shot back disgustedly. "The dude's got my girl and her babies. I'll kill the fucker myself!"

I couldn't help but smile.

"Gawd, you heard that gunshot. What do you think he's done?" she wondered frantically.

How much her attitude had changed in just three short days.

"Maybe it was Morelli," I offered, not even believing my own words.

"Maybe," she agreed doubtfully. "We need to get moving. I'm hungry, and I want to go home—_with _my girl."

"Stephanie will be proud when she hears how you've responded to all this, Lula."

I waited until she'd looked away in embarrassment before adding, "I know I am."

The whites of her eyes were so wide and bright they could have illuminated the entire sky. Not waiting for her response, I turned back to help Tank and saw Cheryl Sullivan watching me from the other side of the road where she stood with her arm around Jessie Stampler. The glow from her flashlight revealed the curiosity on her face as well as compassion.

My already tortured heart skipped even faster. _Shit._

I needed to stay away from that woman.

Rogers appeared in my face with Stampler. "What the fuck, Manoso. Who fired the gun?"

"Do I look like my name's Houdini?" I asked in exasperation. _Why the hell couldn't we have brought Reynolds instead? _He was the only cop who seemed to have any sense—next to Morelli. "I don't know! As soon as we can get through the tree, we'll go find out. Until then, stay out of the way if you're not going to help."

"Listen, you son of a—"

"Got it!" Tank's voice sliced the tension with two simple words.

"Thank God," I breathed to myself. Aloud I added, "Alright, people, let's move. Take only the bare essentials. We need to hurry."

I made my way over to Tank and spoke directly into his ear. "I'm going on ahead."

"I figured as much," he nodded. "I'll cover for you. Go."

Within minutes, I found the chance to slip through the passage in the tree Tank had created while everyone was gathering up the supplies. _Was it my imagination or had the rain lessened slightly?_

I was making good time when I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps sloshing through the mud behind me. Whirling around, I had my gun cocked and aimed before I'd even taken my next breath.

"Move and I'll shoot," I threatened in a deadly voice.

"Well that would be unfortunate," came Dr. Sullivan's wry voice.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

Tony cursed under his breath. "What was that? It was practically outside the window!"

"Bulldog," I panicked.

"Jesus, he probably got Paul!"

_Oh no!_

"I'm going to hide in the bedroom," Tony decided uneasily, his voice reflecting concern for his brother. "I'll have to try and jump Bulldog from behind if he comes in here." Letting out a stress-filled sight, he added while patting my shoulder, "Try and rest, Steph. I'm pretty sure you have a fever, and—"

"Go," I said dazedly.

"Right. Hang in there, beautiful," he offered and then moved silently through the dark into another room, leaving me alone and chained to the wall in total darkness.

I wasn't alone for long however. The door to the trailer burst open, and in walked Bulldog. His flashlight illuminated the filthy interior of the trailer's main living space.

"You're awake?" he jeered. "I would've thought you'd be long gone from here now." Cracking up at his own joke, he continued, "Oh, that's right. You can't go anywhere, can you? You seemed to be rather tied up at the moment."

"Water," I begged. "Please. For my babies."

"I don't _have_ any water," he responded angrily, "and if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't be giving it to you. You haven't done jack shit to earn a thing from me. Where are those two idiot in-laws of yours?"

"I don't know," I shook my head. "Please. I'm begging you. I need help."

"You need help alright—help understanding I don't give a flying fuck about you or your brats."

I was too exhausted to speak much more. Knowing I'd be unconscious again soon, I added nervously, "Gun shot. Who'd you shoot?"

"What would you say if I told you it was your precious husband?" he taunted.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

The gunshot was close by—perhaps as little as two hundred feet.

_Stephanie!_

My heart lurched into my throat and without thought, I surged forward only to have Paul wrap his arms around my waist and pull me back. The wind wasn't nearly as ferocious as it'd been only minutes ago, so that even as I struggled wildly against him, I could hear his raspy whisper against my ear.

"Stop! Cut it out, Joe. Get a hold of yourself. Charging up there isn't going to solve anything. I think Bulldog just killed Tony."

_Tony?_

"He probably found him in the trailer with Steph," Paul continued morosely, trying to catch his breath. He bent over at the waist, placing his hands on his knees. "Oh my God—Tony!"

There was no moonlight to cast a glow on anything, yet residual lightening from the storm allowed me to make out the small structure of the trailer in front of me. And while it was still raining, it was more of steady soaking versus the torrential downpour of earlier.

"I'm going in," I announced determinedly, my own gun firmly ensconced between my fingers. I wasn't nearly as convinced as Paul that it was Tony who'd been shot.

"Hell yeah—we _both_ are," Paul concurred, "but _not_ yet. Think Joe! If Bulldog just shot Tony, what's to prevent him from shooting your wife? We need a plan and _you _need to start acting like a cop and not as a husband."

He was right, but at that moment the idea was as foreign to me than as if he'd asked me to act like a woman rather than a man. I _was _a husband—and almost a father—and my family could be dead in that trailer. What if Paul was wrong? What if Bulldog had shot Stephanie and not Tony?

"How do you want to do this?" Paul asked, his own voice shaking over what might've happened to our brother.

Swiping a hand through my hair, I refused to allow fatigue to cloud my thinking. I was running on pure adrenaline and needed to maintain the intensity no matter what the cost.

"Is there a back entrance to the trailer?"

"Side entrance—right hand side."

"Okay, you sneak around there," I instructed, pointing in the general direction, although I'm not certain whether he could see the motion or not.

If we could only catch a break and have the moon come out for a few minutes. Right then it was so dark it was like trying to operate in the belly of a cave.

"What's the signal going to be?" Paul wondered nervously.

"Three rapid clicks of my flashlight."

I sensed rather than saw his nod. "Alright. Give me five minutes to get over there, and I'll be ready."

"Here—" Reaching into my backpack, I handed him another gun that Ranger had packed. "You need a weapon. You do know how to shoot a gun, right?"

"Yeah, but does the TPD know about this?" he questioned, sounding doubtful.

"I don't know, and I don't care. _Nothing _matters except for Stephanie. Got it?"

"Five minutes," was his only response before setting off silently into the unknown.

I began to pray anew—this time that Bulldog wouldn't hear us stumbling around out there in the abyss.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I hissed, lowering my hand with the gun. The rain had indeed slackened, making it easier to speak without everyone within a ten-mile radius hearing what was said.

"My job," Cheryl replied matter-of-factly—just like you."

"I don't have time for games or to argue with you," I ordered brusquely. "Didn't you hear that gunshot? Go back with the others."

She ignored me. In fact, shining my flashlight, I could see she'd already passed me and was traveling at a steady clip down the road. The woman was like a freakin' cat the way she moved. I had to hustle to keep up.

"You're only endangering yourself and everyone else by acting this way," I groused, irritated she wasn't obeying my command. "I need to focus on helping Morelli get Stephanie out safely."

She stopped in her tracks. Her normally laid back personality gone—replaced by concern and frustration.

"I'm here for a purpose too, Mr. Manoso, and that purpose isn't to stand on the sidelines twiddling my thumbs. You have no idea what Joe is going through. _I _have the capacity to help him and Stephanie emotionally. Now I'm sorry if your nose is out of joint because I can offer them something you can't, but don't get in my way. In return, I'll gladly stay out of yours."

"My nose isn't out of joint!" I shot back somewhat embarrassedly, feeling as though I'd been scolded like a schoolboy. _And I DID know what Morelli was going through. _Maybe not the part about his brother, but I was equally worried sick about Stephanie.

_It's not the same, Carlos._

Ignoring my subconscious, I grabbed Cheryl's hand, disregarding the electrical current between us. "Like I said, I don't have time to argue. Just stay out of my way."

"No worries," she shot back, being equally as obstinate. Together the two of us set off half jogging/half sliding down the road.

After a few moments of silence, I couldn't resist asking, "What did you do in the military?"

"I'd tell you but then I'd have to kill you," she said only somewhat jokingly.

_Huh? _"Intelligence?"

"A number of things," she responded neutrally. "I'm sure you have some interesting stories as well, but I won't bother to ask. I know the drill."

She didn't sound angry about the fact I was sworn to secrecy, which only served to frustrate me more. _Everyone _seemed to want to get inside my head and understand my past. My brain would be a psychologist's dream come true—except apparently for this one.

The beam of my flashlight fell upon the trailer approximately five hundred yards ahead of us, and I quickly doused the light.

"I saw it," Cheryl breathed, lowering her voice. "Now what?"

We were coming in toward the left of the trailer. "I don't know yet. I can't see anything in the dark. Just be quiet and follow me."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

There was a momentary shaft of light reflected off of the trailer and then blackness again. _What the hell had that been? _Jesus, hopefully Paul didn't mistake it for the signal and charge into the trailer before I was in position.

Inching forward, I began to ease my way out from the brush in order to move toward the front door of the trailer. Suddenly I heard a shriek.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"You hear that?" I demanded restlessly.

"A woman's voice—clearly Stephanie's," she responded. "Give me a gun."

_What? _"No—"

"Give me a goddamned gun, Ranger."

Reaching down to where I'd strapped one around my ankle, I carefully handed it to her.

"Stay close," I instructed and continued to move forward.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"No!" I cried out weakly inside the trailer. "Please God—no. You shot Joe?"

Bulldog laughed bloodlessly. "I wish. Maybe I'll get the good fortune of doing that soon as well, but first I need his brothers. I thought I was shooting at Paul out there just now, but it turned out to be a tree. It's hard to see without the moon. I need a night scope."

I almost passed out again—only this time from relief. Joe was okay—at least for the moment.

Suddenly a ray of light fell across the wall behind my head, and then it was gone just as quickly.

"What the hell was that?" Bulldog challenged, his head lifting up as if he were catching a scent.

Trying not to appear too obvious, I looked over his shoulder to see Tony slowly sneaking up behind him, ready to pounce. The flash of light had momentarily stunned him too. Creeping forward, he was within five feet of my captor when a rotting floorboard creaked loudly beneath the weight of his body.

Instinctively, Bulldog exploded, his body whipping around like a tornado. His arm with the gun shot upward, catching Tony under the chin. Flying backward, Tony fell against the wall of the trailer and slumped to the floor unconscious.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Loud noises came from within the trailer. _What the hell was happening? _I had taken two steps toward the door and was ready to signal Paul when the door to the trailer burst open. No one could be seen, but Bulldog's voice rang out across the clearing.

"I know it's you out there, Morelli—and I don't care which Morelli it is. I'll kill you both. You hear me? I'll kill you both, along with your idiot brother, the cop's wife and those bastards she's carrying. I've got 'em all, and neither Stephanie nor Tony is looking too good right now."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_Fuck!_

Jackson must've seen the beam from my flashlight. Had I known we were this close to the trailer, I'd have turned it off earlier. It was so fucking dark; none of us knew what we were doing out there. The conditions rivaled some of the worst I'd seen in the military in terms of being uncoordinated and unprepared.

_He had Stephanie AND Tony? Where was Morelli? _I had no idea if he was somewhere around or had gotten hurt along the way. We hadn't come across him, so I had to assume he was hiding nearby.

As if on cue, his voice cut the silence to the right of me, almost in front of the trailer. "What do you want, Jackson?"

"That you, cop? Good. Listen up. You've got five minutes to get your brother Paul to me, or I'm killing your other brother. One second longer than five minutes, and he's a dead man."

"He means nothing to me," Morelli called back, using control I'd seriously doubted he still had. "And I have no idea where Paul is, so why don't you save us both some time. Send Stephanie out here, and you can keep Tony."

Bulldog's laugh rolled out of the trailer in sickening waves. "Everyone seems to think I'm stupid. There's no way I'm letting your bitch go, although I got to tell you, she ain't looking too good right now. Pregnancy doesn't seem to agree with her. Maybe I ought to relieve her of those babies—"

"Joe! Stop—don't do anything stupid. He's crazy—" Stephanie's voice could be heard faintly in the background.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

The sound of my wife's voice almost brought me to my knees. _Oh God. Oh God. _Focus—Joe. You _need _to focus.

"Shut up!" Bulldog's snarl at Stephanie could've been heard a mile away. _Where were Ranger and the others? God, I need their help!_

Jackson was a dead man.

I'd kill him with my own hands before this thing was done. Closing my eyes, I tried to think of what to do next.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_Damn, why hadn't I grabbed the night scope from Tank before I'd left him?_

The darkness was paralyzing. I was half-way tempted to shine my flashlight in the doorway, so we could at least try and see what was happening in the trailer, but I didn't want to mess up any plan Morelli might have.

Seconds later, movement could be heard behind me, and Rogers' voice called out through a bullhorn, "Bruce Jackson—this is Chief Brett Rogers from the Trenton Police Department. You are under arrest. Come out with your hands up."

_Who the fuck was he kidding? _Did he really think Jackson was just going to waltz willingly out the door?

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

Bulldog laughed again, only more to himself than anyone else. "Back-up, huh? Like I give a shit," he muttered to himself. In three strides he was beside me, fumbling in the dark with the key to unlock the handcuffs.

"Are you letting me go?" I asked hopefully. Sheer willpower was keeping me awake now. I needed my husband.

"Not another word out of you, bitch," he ordered, unceremoniously dragging me to my feet. My knees nearly buckled, as he held me limply at his side. "Understand? Not ONE word or you and your brats are dead."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

_Thank God—they were there!_

"I've got Stampler, Bulldog," I shouted. "_Both _Stamplers. Let's talk."

"You don't have jack shit!" he yelled through the open door.

I heard a sound to my left, and then Jessie Stampler's voice cried out uncertainly, "Uncle Bruce? What are you doing? You're scaring me. Please don't hurt that woman."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

Without warning, the large battery-operated searchlight we'd used on the tree was beamed into the doorway. Glancing to my right, I could barely make out Tank halfway between Morelli and me.

"This is pointless," Morelli bellowed from his position. "You're completely surrounded, Jackson. You're a dead man if you don't stop this craziness. Send out Stephanie—now."

"I'm not sure he should bait him," Cheryl spoke almost to herself beside me.

Immediately Bulldog appeared in the center of the light with Stephanie directly in front of him. He was holding her up with one arm, while his gun was pointed directly at her temple.

"I'll tell you who's dead, Morelli. Your _wife _is about to be dead!" He moved the gun slowly down her body to point at her belly. "Or is it your little bastards you want dead. Hell, how about _all _of them!"

_Fuck!_

Bulldog had Stephanie positioned exactly where we couldn't get a shot off at him. She looked terrible, and my gut churned with barely restrained fury.

He was a dead man.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

_Oh sweet Jesus—look at her!_

Draped in front of Jackson like a rag doll, Stephanie's head was flopped back against his shoulder, but covering his face enough that no one would dare take a shot. She was soaking wet, and—shit—her boots were missing.

She looked downright ill.

My heart physically hurt from seeing the discomfort she was in, while my arms ached to hold her and take the pain away.

I could see her trying to stay conscious, scanning the clearing for me.

"Listen up, Morelli," Bulldog hollered, still running his gun up and down Stephanie's body. "I want Paul, and I want him NOW!"

"Bruce, forget it—enough is enough."

Brian Stampler's voice shocked us all.

"Let Morelli's wife go."

Bulldog's eyes shot over to where Stampler's voice had come. "Brian? That you?"

"Yeah. It's time to bring this whole thing to an end. Jessie's scared out of her mind—"

"I can't," Bulldog argued, shaking his head seriously. "I promised your father—"

He stopped himself and then became even more intense. Wrapping his arm even tighter around Stephanie, the gun returned to her temple.

"Now—Morelli. Give me Paul now, or your family is dead."

There was never any question of what I'd do next. It came as simply to me as breathing.

Stepping out into the clearing, I looked Bulldog in the eye.

"Take me instead."


	20. Chapter 20

I do not own any of JE's characters.

I want you all to know that I was overwhelmed by your support last chapter. The encouragement and kind words make every moment of this journey worth it. There were a few new readers who commented this time as well. To you and to ALL of you who've been so faithful, thank you.

My fabulous Beta reader Julie once more knocked it out of the ballpark for me this chapter. I'm in your debt, dear friend. Thank you. And look, I made it with an hour to spare...Happy Birthday!

This chapter is pure mania, folks. It couldn't be helped. Strap on your seat-belts, because here we go!

* * *

Chapter Twenty

_"Take me instead."_

**Ranger's POV**

_For God's sake—what was Morelli DOING!_

I took a step forward in shock.

"No—wait," Cheryl hissed, holding her arm out to stop my progress. "He needs to do this, Ranger."

"He'll get himself _and_ Stephanie killed!" I argued angrily, barely managing to hold myself in check. I hated having everything out of my control like this.

If possible, Bulldog tightened his grip around Stephanie's neck even more. Shifting the aim of his gun toward Morelli, he shouted, "Get back! Get back—or I'll kill her right now!"

"Joe, don't—" Stephanie choked out the words, sagging heavily against Jackson.

I'd seen Babe look pretty awful on more than one occasion as a result of her antics as a bounty hunter, but never had she looked this badly. A goddamned corpse would have had more color to its skin than what was illuminating from hers in the glow of the searchlight.

Morelli stood there resolutely, not moving a muscle and from the looks of things purposefully ignoring his wife.

"Take _me_, Jackson," he insisted calmly. "Let Stephanie go and take me until we can find Paul."

He took another step toward Bulldog.

"Stop! I'm not playing games, cop!" He held the gun under Stephanie's chin. "Stop now or I'll blow her fucking head off. You understand me?"

"I'll find Paul," Morelli insisted with a seemingly unfazed demeanor, and, despite every ounce of bad blood that'd been between the two of us, I had to admire the man's guts. "I'll get him here for you."

"I'm _already _here," came a voice similar to Morelli's.

Cheryl gasped beside me.

_Holy Shit—it was PAUL! _

He stepped out from around the side of the trailer and into the beam of the searchlight Tank was still shining on the clearing. He was holding the Glock I'd put in Morelli's backpack as a spare. Obviously the two brothers had met up somewhere along the road to the trailer.

"Take me Bulldog," he offered loudly. "I'm the one you want."

Bulldog shifted slightly, moving the gun back and forth between the two Morelli brothers. "Hold it! Don't come any closer—either of you."

Paul took a fraction of a step. "Forget these two—" He gestured between Stephanie and Joe. "I don't know who you are or what you want with me, but here I am. Take me, and let's talk. But you have to let Steph go first."

The mercenary's face twisted. "_You _are not in a position to give orders—_I'm _in charge here. Drop your fucking gun."

"_Nobody's_ giving any orders," Morelli reasoned, inching forward again. He had his arms outstretched—no gun in hand. "We're just talking."

The idiot was a friggin' sitting duck.

Rogers mouth suddenly materialized next against my ear.

"Do you have a shot?" he demanded heatedly. "_Take_ the goddamned shot already!"

"Don't talk crazy!" Cheryl overheard and snapped at Rogers before I could open my mouth. "That's the wife of one of _your _detectives that's in trouble. One slight shift, and she's dead. Use your head!"

Reaching out, I placed my hand on the psychologist's arm to temper her outburst. The last thing I needed was to have to referee a pissing match between her and Trenton's Chief of Police—even though the woman was absolutely right—Rogers _did _need to use his head.

"It's too risky," I agreed, and then asked, "Where's Stampler?"

"Right here with me," the chief noted.

Leaning around Rogers, I ordered the Newark cop, "Talk with Jackson again. Tell him to stop this nonsense for Jessie's sake."

Stampler calculated my request in the dark. "I'll do it, but I don't know what good it'll do. He's clearly lost his mind. You should undo these cuffs, so I can help."

_Did he think I was an idiot?_

"You're only making it worse for yourself, Stampler."

I barely made out his shrug. "Do what you want, asshole. I'm simply telling you Bruce is a loose cannon—"

He was interrupted by Paul's voice baiting Bulldog again."I'm anxious to talk with you. I'd like to hear about how you knew to be at the warehouse this morning. How do you know Meachum? Are you a dealer?"

"Shut up!" Bulldog bawled. "Quit playing games. _You're _the dealer—and the rapist and the murderer. Drop the gun and surrender to me immediately."

"Gladly," Paul agreed perfunctorily, dropping the pistol to the wet ground.

_Shit. _Now they were both unarmed.

The rain had stopped completely, leaving everyone and everything cold and soaking wet. Morelli didn't even seem to notice, as he took yet another step toward Bulldog.

"You wanted Paul, and now you've got him," he noted dispassionately. "Which means you have no need for Stephanie any longer. Don't add the murder of a woman and—and," he stumbled over the words.

_Damn it—he needed to keep it together! _

"And two babies to your list of charges," he finished strongly.

Jackson immediately went on the offensive, pushing Stephanie out further into the clearing.

"Don't do it!" Brian Stampler suddenly shouted out the warning from beside me. "Drop the gun, Bruce."

"Stop pushing me!" he yelled, his voice shaking with anger. "All of you—stop pushing me. Just let me think for a goddamned minute."

While he was in pause mode, I needed to sneak around to the side to see if I could get a shot off from that direction.

Cheryl read my mind. "I'll go left," she suggested. "You go right."

She was friggin' nuts if she thought I'd let her get involved. "No way! Go hold the searchlight for Tank. Let him—"

"You're wasting time," she shushed. "Go!"

I did _not _like being given orders—from anyone—but especially not from a civilian shrink. Glaring at the air where her body had once stood, I again marveled at her catlike grace as she moved through the brush in the dim radiance from the searchlight.

Turning, my glare shifted to Rogers, who stood there ineffectually.

"Go run the spotlight for Tank, so he can help the shrink and me—that is unless you're willing to act like a cop and help me bring this guy down." I couldn't help but sneer over the last part, which only served to enrage Rogers.

_God, I needed to take my own advice and keep it together._

He opened his mouth to blast me, and then closed it just as quickly. With a grim nod, he moved past me to replace Tank, pulling Stampler behind him.

The cop taunted me. "I _told _you it was pointless to talk with him. Take these cuffs off of me before anyone else gets hurt. I can help."

_Right. _And I was Santa Claus.

Lula appeared out of nowhere. "What do you want from me?"

"You go to the right with me. Send Tank left with Dr. Sullivan. You have your gun, correct?"

She pulled out the pink monstrosity from the other day. "I'm ready," she confirmed with a seemingly confident nod, although the whites of her eyes gave away her fear.

"Good girl."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

My brain felt as though it'd split in half. Part of it was in complete cop mode, clinically facing down a madman as I'd done so many other times in my career. And Bulldog truly was insane. The closer I got to him the more I could see the deranged look in his eyes.

Desperately trying to ignore Stephanie so I could focus, the other half of my mind failed miserably. Seeing her within reach of my arms and knowing she was perhaps life-threateningly ill, nearly broke me. The one time I'd allowed our eyes to meet, she'd looked at me with such an expression of fear, mixed with love and trust; I'd become even more terrified. _What if I let her down?_

Without thought, Paul and I simultaneously took another step closer.

"Stop!" Bulldog insisted, still training the gun back and forth between us.

He moved even further away from the trailer. _Thank God. _Maybe Ranger would be able to get a shot off then, but the thought scared the living shit out of me. _What if he missed and hit Stephanie instead? _I could see she'd passed out in Jackson's arms. _Damn it!_ Hanging there limply, her dead weight was putting Jackson even more off balance, which I hoped would work to our advantage.

Just then Tony staggered into the open doorway of the trailer behind Bulldog. Holding his jaw, he moved forward unsteadily.

"If anyone's going with you, Jackson—it's me," he announced determinedly. "Let's go."

The three of us had the bounty hunter cornered in a triangle. The only problem was we were all unarmed.

Bulldog swept his gun back and forth several times before returning it beneath Stephanie's chin.

"Here's how it's going to happen," he warned threateningly. "Paul is going with me and Stephanie, until I can get out of town. I want a helicopter waiting for me at the main road, along with one million dollars as a reward for capturing Tony. Once Paul and I are safely on the helicopter, I'll give you Stephanie. That's it. That's the only deal. Get these other people out of here now before I change my mind and kill her now."

"Uncle Bruce—stop!" Jessie Stampler's voice screamed from the edge of the clearing. "Don't hurt that woman—please. Don't hurt _any_ of them. Why are you doing this?"

"Jessie—you hush!" Bulldog shouted back. "I'm doing what your father would've done to protect his baby girl. I'm doing _exactly_ what he would've expected me to do as your godfather. I'm avenging what this bastard did to you, the goddamned rapist."

"She's pregnant! I know you helped Brian take care of me when I was a baby. Don't you remember what that's like? How can you kill two innocent children?"

"Be quiet, Jessica Lynn; you _don't _understand!"

"But she asks good questions, _Uncle _Bruce," I noted calculatedly, moving forward again.

I was within ten feet of them now—ten feet from pulling my wife into my arms. Paul was five feet behind me from the other direction, while Tony was closer than any of us—five feet directly behind Jackson.

"Why _ARE _you doing all of this?" I questioned disgustedly. "Christ, you were a cop once. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Keep your mouth shut, Morelli. You don't know shit about me or what I hold dear."

He rubbed his hand in a sickening gesture over Stephanie's belly where our two children might very well be fighting for their lives, and I wanted to kill him right then.

"But I know what y_ou_ hold dear," he continued coldly. He was a ruthless monster like my father. "You're a lousy poker player, asshole. I can see the terror for your wife written all over your face."

My hands itched to destroy him.

Tony met my gaze from behind Bulldog, signaling me to keep my cool. It was the first time I'd seen my oldest brother since I'd dropped him off at my mother's house to meet with his attorney nearly two weeks ago. He looked beaten down—old—and shockingly like my father had the night he'd died.

For a moment, time rocketed backward, and I was staring into the eyes of my protector. All of the hero worship I'd felt as a kid washed over me, and I felt sick at the realization of how much we'd both changed—how one event twenty-seven years ago had wreaked such havoc on two brothers' lives and taken them in completely opposite directions.

Without warning, anger over how he'd treated Stephanie the week before in our own home surged through me as well. He sensed the shift in my mood, but never broke eye contact—silently begging me with his eyes to trust him and not go off against Jackson. But it was too late—my fury was huge, practically swallowing my common sense whole with the scope of its power.

Bulldog's warning voice hurtled me to the present. "Back down before you become a widower, Morelli."

We were fast running out of time. Jackson's willingness to talk was done, as was my patience. Either he left with Paul and Stephanie now, or he'd kill her. I knew it, and so did my brothers. Sparing Paul a mere glance, he nodded back at me almost imperceptibly.

"I'm not messing with you," I insisted, keeping my voice even. "I want to know what's making you tick right now, Jackson. I want to understand you."

All three of us slowly moved forward. The gun was everywhere, and I knew it was going to be up to us to stop the lunatic. No way would anyone else be able to get a shot off without killing Stephanie or one of us in the process.

Stephanie's eyes opened momentarily.

"Jooooe," she slurred, her head lolling against Bulldog's shoulder. "Don't feeeel gooood—"

Instinctively, I moved toward her. Paul did the same, as did Tony. Bulldog, sensing what was about to happen moved the gun toward Stephanie. Paul was the first to leap, immediately followed by Tony. The gun went off as Paul pushed Jackson backward.

And then it was complete pandemonium.

Jessie Stampler let out a blood-curdling scream.

I caught Stephanie as she crumpled toward the ground.

_Jesus—she'd been shot!_

Before Paul could take Bulldog down, the bounty hunter raised his gun to fire point blank at Paul's chest. In that millisecond, another shot rang out from outside the clearing—this one catching Jackson in the upper thigh. His hands flew upward in reaction, and Paul quickly took him down, grabbing the gun from his hand.

The searchlight tilted toward the sky as if someone had abandoned it, leaving us with only the faintest of illumination.

"Stephanie—oh God no," I breathed shakily, easing her gently to the ground. "She's been shot!" I cried in a louder voice. "Jesus Christ, hurry up—she's been shot. I need a light."

Frantically, I began to run my hands gently over her body, searching for the bullet hole. "Hurry up!" I screamed again. My chest was heaving with anxiety. _Hang on, Cupcake!_

Bulldog was howling in pain nearby.

Footsteps came pounding toward us.

"Who's been shot!" Rogers bellowed. Pulling a set of handcuffs out of his pocket, he fumbled in the dark to handcuff Bulldog.

Manoso was on his knees beside me. "Where," he challenged intensely.

"I don't know. I can't fucking see!" My voice hitched with emotion. "Steph—Stephanie, can you hear me?"

Tank was down next to us within seconds, handing me a blanket. "I've got a bag of supplies."

"He was a medic in the service," Manoso explained brusquely.

"We need more light!" I shouted louder, practically shaking with nerves. I couldn't feel any blood anywhere on her, but—

"What the hell? Tony!" Paul exclaimed from several feet away. "Joe—it's _Tony_. He's been shot!"

_Tony. _

The gunshot had hit Tony—not Stephanie. _Oh God. _Relief coursed through me that it wasn't Stephanie or the babies, immediately followed by fear for my brother.

Someone blessedly tilted the searchlight down, once again filling the clearing with illumination.

"Who fired that second shot," Rogers' voice questioned.

"Oh God—it's his stomach," Paul announced morbidly to anyone who'd listen. "Someone help. Joe—"

My eyes met Manoso's over Stephanie's still body. "I can't," I said simply.

He nodded in understanding. Touching Stephanie's arm, he moved reluctantly to check on Tony with Tank. Immediately Cheryl took their places.

"I've had some medical training," she offered. "Not much—but enough to check her over."

I didn't even answer. Lifting a swaddled Stephanie ever so carefully into my lap, I cradled her close as Cheryl began to do a cursory search over her body.

"Come on, Cupcake," I begged hoarsely near her ear. "Stay with me."

Brushing the wet hair off of her forehead, I felt the heat of her skin radiating against my palm. She was burning up.

"Wake up, baby. Wake up so I can tell you how much I love you." My hand moved protectively over her abdomen. "How much I love _all_ of you."

I buried my face in her hair, praying for both her _and _Tony. Guilt, brought on by years of family expectation ate at me to check on my brother, but there was no way in hell I was leaving my wife's side. _Nothing _would take me away from her.

"My leg!" Jackson continued to moan.

"Shut up!" I turned my head and snarled, and then asked of no one in particular, "Where's Stampler—and Jessie?"

"Lawd, I got 'em over here with me," Lula called back nervously.

Evidently she was the one to have commandeered the searchlight. Her voice was trembling so badly, I barely recognized it as hers.

"Jessie is helping me move the light closer." No ghetto tone anymore—just sheer fear.

No wonder the beam was jumping all over the place.

"Tank, do you have IV equipment?" Cheryl called over to where Ranger's right hand man was working feverishly over Tony.

"He does," Manoso confirmed, bringing the supplies almost instantly. He stared down in horror at Stephanie and asked softly, "How is she?"

Cheryl didn't answer, but I saw her exchange a solemn look with Ranger.

_Oh God._

"Ranger, I need you!" Tank barked. "Hold that right there. No _there!_" he snapped at Paul, who was helplessly trying to assist.

"When is someone going to look at my leg?" Bulldog demanded.

"Someone either shut him up, or I'll shoot him. And I'm not joking," I said in a deadly tone.

"Keep your trap shut," Rogers warned Jackson. "One more word and I'll gag you." To Ranger, he added, "I got a hold of Reynolds on a satellite phone. He said they're already on their way."

"How far have they gone?" Ranger asked sharply, looking up from where he was holding instruments for Tank.

_Holy hell, were they operating out there in the dark?_

"Almost a mile."

"Tell him to hurry. Tony's not looking good."

"Shut up!" Tank exploded again. "I need to concentrate. I need more light!"

Cheryl fought to get the needle into Stephanie's arm. "I do too. I can barely see. Someone get a flashlight over here. Stephanie needs fluid immediately. She's too dehydrated."

"Oh God," Paul moaned, looking back and forth between Steph and Tony.

Without warning, he jumped to his feet and took off, charging toward Stampler who was being towed by Lula with one hand, while she carried the light with Jessie in the other.

"Paul, no!" I commanded, knowing his intention.

He kept moving. In handcuffs, Stampler had no way of bracing himself for the impact, as Paul leapt through the air like a puma and tackled him to the ground.

"This is _your _fault, you fucking bastard. His fists began to pummel Stampler's face and body.

Jessie screamed again and burst into tears, dropping her side of the light. "Stop! Everyone just stop!"

The searchlight went catawampus, while Lula let go to try and heave Paul off of Stampler.

"Oh Gawd, I need help!" she shouted, "Stop fighting me, you idiot. We're tryin' to help you!"

"Somebody get this drug dealin' rapist off of me!" Stampler wailed. "Jesus Christ, I'm a fucking cop, and I can't even fight back. Help me!"

"Goddamn it!" I screamed up at Rogers, who was standing there looking shell-shocked. "What the hell's wrong with you? Get control of this situation _now! _You're a better cop than this, Brett."

He seemed momentarily stunned by my declaration, and then took off running to help Lula.

"Get off him!" he yelled into Paul's ear. "I _said _get off him, Morelli—now! You're under arrest!"

He struggled with my brother, and again the tentacles of loyalty and family obligation tugged at me. The memories of what both Paul _and _Tony had done for me as a child warred with the realization that none of this would be happening if they'd only told the truth and cooperated with me. If they had, Stephanie and our children would be safe at home right then—not fighting for her life in the middle of a goddamned swamp.

To hell with obligation—love for my wife would _always _come first.

"Jesus, I need another set of handcuffs," Rogers barked, still scuffling with Paul. "Hurry!"

Lula hastily handed him hers, and then did the only thing she could think of to stop Paul completely. She sat on him.

"Thank God!" Rogers exhaled before slipping on the handcuffs. "Good work," he added shortly to Lula, who was looking dazed but determined.

This was worse than any nightmare I could've ever imagined. I hadn't felt this helpless since the night my monster of a father nearly tried to kill me.

My father—

_Tony_.

Turning my head, I strained in the dark to see what was happening with my brother.

"Get that light turned back over here. Lula!" Tank roared. I heard him add to Ranger in an undertone, "It's bad. The bullet's lodged in his kidney. I can't get it out. And look at the damage over here."

Moments later the searchlight was back in position. Lula had gotten close enough to give us all more illumination.

Stephanie moaned, blinking against the sudden intrusion of light.

"I'm here, Cupcake," I soothed, once more turning my attention to my battered wife and running the tips of my fingers across her cheek.

Now that Lula had provided more brightness, I could see how truly bruised Stephanie was. Peeking beneath the blanket, it appeared as though she'd been dragged—her clothes were torn over her shivering body. _And where the hell were her boots? _

The tremors wracking her body were frightening.

"I think she's going into shock," Cheryl warned. "I need another blanket! Tank, what do you know about pregnancy. Do you have anything to give her in that bag of yours?"

"Can't talk," he shot back.

"We need to get a hold of Dr. Hamilton," Cheryl determined, wiping her forehead with her wet sleeve. "He needs to meet us at the hospital immediately. I think he's on staff at Helen Fund." In a louder voice, she called out to Rogers, "I need that SAT phone."

_How the hell were we going to get everyone out of a swamp as quickly as we needed too?_

Terror seized my system. "Tell them we need a helicopter."

"They _can't_ land a helicopter in this mess," Ranger pointed out in frustration. "The trees and the wind—"

"The wind isn't quite as strong, and they'll just have to work around the trees. It's our _only _choice, Ranger," I rejoined desperately. "They'll _have_ to air lift Tony and Steph. There's no way in hell Tony's going to make it if we walk out of here, and—and I don't think the babies will either." My voice faltered, cracking slightly, and I had to swallow hard for control.

"He's right," Tank agreed in a low voice. "Make the call—now."

"I'm on it," Rogers acknowledged, recognizing the gravity of the situation, along with the rest of us. "Who is Stephanie's obstetrician? I'll call him too."

"Stephen Hamilton, Partners in Women's Health," I rattled off quickly. "Fuck, someone should call her parents—and my mom too—"

"I've got it covered."

"Joe, what's happening with Tony?" Paul asked anxiously from his position on the ground where Rogers had left him handcuffed.

Ranger looked over at me from where he and Tank were doing their best to stabilize him.

"It's not good," he murmured loud enough for me to hear.

"Joe?" Stephanie whispered weakly.

_Thank God! _She was awake.

My lips brushed over her forehead and settled beside her ear, whispering. "I'm here, Cupcake. I'm right here. I've got you—and the babies."

"Bulldog—?" she queried in fright.

"I'm right here," Bulldog announced from where he lay writhing on the ground. He let out a deranged and evil laugh, snorting at his own twisted sense of humor. "Stephanie—lost them babies yet?"

My entire body stilled, as I comprehended what he'd just wished upon my wife and children. In that single moment, every ounce of frustration—every second of fury, helplessness and agony I'd felt over the past several weeks with regard to my job, my family, my childhood and the threats to my ego as a man converged into one ultimate pinnacle of rage.

I was going to kill the diabolical son of a bitch.

I moved to set Stephanie down, and Cheryl, sensing what had just happened in my mind, reached out to stop me, placing her hands forcefully upon my shoulders.

"Joe—no!" she cried vehemently. "Ranger!"

I heard Manoso's voice buzzing in my ear as well, but nothing was discernible over the blood pumping through my system. I was beyond reason, barely even registering the fact that Stephanie had passed out again.

Ranger was in front of my face within seconds, replacing Cheryl's hands with his own. "You fucking well better listen to me, Morelli," he blared in my face, giving me a hard shake. "I know you want to kill him. I do too. No question the bastard deserves to die a slow, painful and torturous death. But right now your wife needs you more, and she _must _come first! Don't let this asshole keep you from doing the right thing. Just focus on Stephanie. I'll take care of everything else."

After several moments of struggle, some of his words finally penetrated my brain.

Closing my eyes, I dug down deep for my last vestiges of self-control and nodded wordlessly.

"Get him away from me," I growled. "Get him the fuck away from me and shut him up, or I swear to God, I'll kill him." My eyes met Manoso's. "Do it now before I change my mind."

He nodded once before walking over to where Bulldog lay on his back, still laughing. I could see the blood oozing from the bullet wound in the bounty hunter's thigh, and for a moment I was sick to my stomach.

It looked exactly how my father's leg had when I'd stabbed him all those years ago.

Ranger grabbed the front of Bulldog's vest. "It seems there's going to be only one way to shut you up, Jackson. Don't say we didn't warn you." He pulled back his fist and plowed it directly into his face, knocking him out instantly.

"Manoso!" Rogers hollered, having seen the entire scene. "Enough!"

Ranger looked back at me. We both knew it would never be enough for what the bastard had done to Stephanie.

"Ranger, you got to help me, man. I can't do this alone," Tank groused, his usually unflappable demeanor stressed to its limit. That's when I knew just how bad it really was.

"Someone give him a blanket," Ranger ordered gruffly, jerking his head toward Bulldog before walking away.

"Joe—what's happening?" Paulie called out again. His frantic tone was picking at my conscience. My brain simply couldn't handle the responsibility of being everything to everyone anymore.

Tuning out my surroundings, I focused once more on a still unconscious Stephanie, who was looking more feverish all the time.

"She has to make it, Cheryl," I spoke gutturally for her ears only. "It'll kill me if she doesn't."

"I know," she soothed, placing her hand on my shoulder again—this time in support.

She didn't try to look on the bright side or argue with me, for which I was eternally grateful. She didn't have too. We both knew I'd spoken the truth.

As much as I loved my unborn children, the simple reality was I couldn't live without Stephanie.

"Tony—" I began, and she cut me off vigorously.

"One worry at a time, Joe. Ranger and Tank are doing all they can for Tony."

I shook my head. "You don't understand. He—he killed my father to protect me." Meeting her gaze, I added, "That's what I remembered today. I owe him my life."

Her eyes widened fractionally, but she remained calm. "Hearing how you've described Tony—not the mess he is today, but the man you once knew him to be—do you honestly believe he would want you to choose allegiance to him over your wife?"

"No," I said immediately. "And I couldn't even if he did. Stephanie _is _my life."

"Then stop punishing yourself. Let Ranger worry about Tony, and let me take care of you."

I didn't respond other than to pull Stephanie even closer into my embrace, memorizing every curve of her body as it fit against mine. _Where was the goddamned helicopter?_

"Reynolds has an air lift on the way from Helene Fuld right now," Rogers announced loudly, as if he'd read my mind. "We should be able to hear them coming any minute."

"It can't be soon enough," Tank muttered. "Tony's pulse is dropping."

"What about Steph?" I asked Cheryl worriedly. "Can you do any more for her?"

"I can't," she said reluctantly, "and neither can Tank. Neither of us has the training to work with a high-risk pregnancy like this. Hopefully the fluids from the IV will at least give her some hydration, until Dr. Hamilton can examine her more fully." She paused, and then continued haltingly. "The—the good news is I've seen no indication of bleeding."

At first I thought she meant from her injuries, but one look at her face had me swallowing hard. She was referring to the babies.

_God, you haven't let me down so far, and I'm grateful. But we're not through this thing yet, and I need you to get that helicopter here and to get Tony, Steph and the babies safely to the hospital for care. They're both my family, God. I need them both._

Bud Reynolds marched into the clearing, followed by a paramedic unit and more cops.

"What've we got here, boys? Where do you want us?"

"Over here," Manoso ordered, motioning the EMT's over to where Tony and Stephanie were located.

Within seconds, a paramedic was beside me. "What's happened," he asked in concern.

"My wife was held hostage by that man over there," I gestured with my head toward Bulldog. "She's not quite twelve weeks pregnant with twins and is already considered high risk."

"Who started the IV?"

"I did," Cheryl spoke up. "I've had limited medical training when in the Air Force. I hope I did it right."

"It looks okay," he nodded. "Not much I can do for her other than provide another blanket for the shock. I wouldn't know what meds are safe to give her."

"Are you sure?" I questioned fearfully. "She has a fever, and—"

"She needs to be seen by her obstetrician immediately," the guy responded shortly. "The chopper should be here in just a few minutes. Hang on." He headed off to assist his partner with Tony.

_Asshole. _I was ready to tear anything or anyone apart that crossed my path without helping my wife.

Scanning the clearing, I noticed Rogers talking with Reynolds, who had assumed command of the crew of uniforms that had arrived.

"You two—get over that and take that searchlight from that poor little Filly. She so tired she looks like she's making three tracks in the dirt."

Two of them rushed over to man the searchlight for Lula. The poor thing was visibly shaking, her eyes never leaving the spot where Stephanie lay in my arms. Her eyes lifted to meet mine, and I signaled her to come over.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

Seeing Morelli beckon Lula, I grabbed Tank's arm. The paramedics had pushed him out of the way as soon as they'd arrived.

"Come on," I suggested, jerking my head toward Morelli and Stephanie.

As soon as Tank saw Lula approach, he wrapped his massive arms around her. "You okay, Lula Doll?"

She latched onto him for dear life, unable to speak, which only served to prove just how upset she truly was.

Morelli had to be soaked sitting on the wet ground like that, but he never moved position from where he cradled Stephanie. The poor idiot looked lost, although perhaps he wasn't quite so much the idiot he'd been even a week ago.

"How is she?" I asked quietly, my eyes washing over my former lover in concern before rising to meet Cheryl Sullivan's assessing gaze.

Feeling flustered when I had no reason to be, I purposefully set my jaw and stared back at her.

"In and out. There's nothing they can do, but get her to the hospital as fast as possible," Cheryl responded on behalf of Morelli. "I'm worried about pneumonia though. How long did Jackson have her out in the rain? And where the hell are her boots?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "But it's damn lucky we got to her when we did." Addressing Morelli, I added, "What the fuck were you thinking walking out to face Jackson unarmed and without a plan like that?"

"I had no choice, and you know it," he answered with steely determination. His voice softened then, as he continued, "You'd have done the same damned thing."

He was right. I would've—no matter what the cost, because I did love Stephanie. But seeing her with Morelli since they'd married, I was beginning to realize they truly were meant to be together. The bond they shared was unlike anything I'd ever seen or experienced.

Jealousy rose within me unexpectedly, but for once it wasn't over Morelli having gotten the girl. It had more to do with the fact that for the first time in my life, I actually _wanted _what the two of them had—the love and the commitment. And in some ways, the realization I may never have it was more difficult than all the pain that had transpired up until that point.

_Would I ever have the freedom to be able to love and be loved like the two of them? _

Forcing myself to bury this newfound insight, I changed the subject.

"That was a hell of a shot you took earlier," I noted to Tank. "In the near dark like that? It was damn near amazing. Were you aiming for Jackson's thigh or was it a lucky shot?"

My best friend stared at me. "I didn't take the shot. I thought _you _did."

"No, I was still trying to navigate into position when the gun went off." Turning to Cheryl, I marveled, "Was it you, Zoomie? I guess I've highly underestimated you—"

She shook her head. "It wasn't me."

"Well Rogers was running the damned searchlight, so who the hell could've—"

I stopped, my head pivoting slowly to look at Lula. She was standing there, still wrapped in Tank's embrace and looking a cross between sheepish and prideful.

One corner of my mouth went up before I could stop it. "You?" I asked simply.

For the first time since lunch, my protégé puffed back up to her normal self. "Hell yeah, it was me." She whipped out her pink gun, and we all ducked. "That little fucker had my girl in a headlock. He needed to go down." Her bravado dimmed however as she asked, "You think they gonna arrest me for shootin' him? Lula don't look good in prison garb, you know."

"You're not going to be arrested," I assured her, following the promise with praise. "It was damned good work, Lula."

"Shit, Lula Doll," Tank grinned proudly in spite of the gravity of the situation.

Morelli wasn't smiling. He reached up his hand to pull Lula down beside him. "Thank you," he breathed, kissing her gratefully on the cheek. "You saved my brother's life with that shot and may very well have saved others too." His eyes gleamed in the glow from the searchlight. "You've evolved into something amazing, Lula. Steph will be damned proud of you. I know I am."

Lula surprised us all by wiping real tears from her eyes. "Three years ago when I met up with Steph my life was shittier than shit. I would've died if it hadn't been for her. Ramirez damn near killed me."

Her voice hitched, as she put her hand on Steph's cheek. She addressed the rest of her thoughts to her former partner.

"Workin' with you was the best, girlie, although we didn't know what the hell we was doin' half the time. It'll kill me if something happens to you and them babies of yours. I want to be able to see how you gonna mess motherhood up too."

That brought a ghost of a smile to Morelli's lips. "I'm not letting anything happen to her," he said hoarsely, battling his own emotions. "I want to mess up parenthood _with_ her."

The sound of an approaching helicopter broke the mood.

Reynolds joined us then and spoke solemnly. "Alright—listen up, folks. This here ain't a slam dunk. Chief Rogers just heard the hospital refused to send its helicopter, because it can only land—not air lift. He had to call in a rescue team from the Coast Guard, and even they balked at sending out one of their units in weather like this. While the lightening and rain have stopped, that wind is still blowing like perfume through a prom."

"How big is the chopper?" Morelli asked. He shifted to lift Stephanie, and Tank and I both moved to help them up.

"Small," he shot back matter-of-factly. "They normally only take one patient at a time, but, under the circumstances, they're going to squeeze in the two of them."

He gave Morelli a look of compassion. "The crew flew to the hospital first to pick up the medical personnel. Your wife's doctor happened to be at the hospital already, so he's coming, along with a trauma surgeon for your brother. That's it. There's no more room—not even for Jackson."

"What are you going to do with _him_?" I asked, watching the look of relief cross Morelli's face knowing Stephanie's obstetrician was on board. It was going to be hell for him however if he couldn't go with Stephanie.

"We'll have to walk him out with us. The medical folk ain't too concerned about Bulldog's injury as his was a clean shot. The bullet went straight through the thigh. It was a hell of a shot by the way. Which one of you took it?"

"Later," I said impatiently, thankful that Reynolds was assisting Rogers with the scene. At least this cop had some common sense. "What about Morelli? He _can_ go in the chopper with Stephanie, right?"

"There's no more room," Reynolds stressed reluctantly, and then addressed Morelli directly. "I'm sorry, son. _But_ I've got one of our choppers coming from Newark to take you on over to the hospital once you get to the main road."

Morelli looked sick at the thought of leaving Stephanie's side. His arms tightened instinctively around her as if afraid to let her go.

"I appreciate that, sir," he managed.

"I'll go with you," I offered hastily before I could stop myself. "We'll leave as soon as Stephanie's on board. With just the two of us, we can make it out of here faster than with all of these people."

"I'll go too," Cheryl stressed. She'd been quietly observing the situation up until now.

I looked over at her doubtfully, wanting to tell her no, but seeing her watching her client in concern, I quickly changed my mind.

"Sounds good," I agreed, trying to sound positive for Morelli's benefit, while inside, I was worried sick about his wife. She might not have been mine to love anymore legally, but the reality was she still held a huge chunk of my heart.

"I'm sorry, Detective," Reynolds repeated compassionately. "There's no other choice."

He swallowed hard but then gave a firm nod. "Let's get moving then."

The helicopter was directly overhead, using a large searchlight of its own to flood the clearing. Brett Rogers was on the phone with the pilot.

"He says they'll send the stokes basket down for the first patient in just a minute," he relayed to the group, referring to the litter rescue helicopters used to carry patients.

"It's got to be this guy we send up first," one of the paramedics called out. We all had to raise our voices to be heard over the noise of the helicopter. "He needs a doctor immediately. I'm not sure he's going to make it."

Still carrying Steph, Morelli walked over and looked down upon his brother for the first time since the shooting. Knowing what he'd told me about Tony in the car on the way over earlier, my gut clenched in unwanted sympathy as I watched him struggle with mixed emotions.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

My stomach pitched at the sight of Tony lying there—but _not_ because I was squeamish over blood. God knows I'd seen enough of it in my years on the force. No, this was more from the realization that there was a very real chance my brother might not make it, and I hadn't had the chance to talk with him yet about what happened the night my father died. I hadn't been able to thank him.

Tony couldn't die—at least not before hearing those words.

"Get Paul," I commanded dully to no one in particular. "He should have the chance to see Tony before he goes."

To my surprise, Rogers complied without delay or protest. Signaling one of the uniforms, Paul was assisted off the ground and brought to where I stood over Tony.

"Oh Christ," Paul grimaced at the sight before him. He raised tortured eyes to look at me. "Joey—"

"I know. Pray—hard."

"What the hell you think I've been doing since this whole mess began?" he demanded disgustedly. "I don't think God's listening to me right now."

"I don't know about that. You're breathing, aren't you?" I returned evenly. "That's a huge answer to one of my prayers."

Paul looked chagrined. "I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you and Steph, Joey. If something happens to her, because of—"

I cut him off firmly. "_Nothing_'_s _going to happen to her."

"Still—I—"

Stephanie shifted in my arms uncomfortably, letting out another moan. _Where the hell was that stokes basket? _"

"Not now, Paulie, okay?" I pleaded impatiently. "I can only handle one crisis at a time, and the _only_ thing on my mind is Stephanie and our children."

Reynolds called out, "They're sending down the stokes basket for your brother, Morelli."

We all watched as the helicopter slowly lowered the litter. The damned thing swung precariously in the residual wind from the storm, and m pulse raced at the thought of Stephanie _or _Tony having to go up in that thing.

As soon as it was on the ground, the paramedics carefully and gingerly moved Tony. He was already hooked up to several different bags of meds through his IV. I could only imagine what they'd do to him once he was at the hospital—if he made it that far. Observing the ghostly pallor of his skin glowing in the manufactured light, I had my doubts.

"Hang in there, big brother," I said softly, reaching out a hand to place it on his shoulder. "I'm counting on you to make it, so I can thank you properly, but just in case, I'm saying it now. Thank you, Tony. I owe you my life."

Paul overheard my murmurings and looked at me in shock. "How—?"

"_Not _now," I stressed again, shaking my head firmly.

He looked ready to argue, but then stopped and faced Tony. I stood back, so he could have a moment alone with his best friend and brother.

"You dumbfuck—why'd you have to go and get shot like that?" Paul tried to grouse, but his voice betrayed his love and concern. "I told you to stay out of this mess of mine, but would you listen? No—as usual you didn't. You had to go in and try to save me—save us all—just—

His chin began to quiver as he lowered his voice.

"Just like last time."

The words were an arrow to my conscience, and I had to look away.

"Don't you dare die on me, you shit for brains. I—I couldn't imagine going through this life without you by my side. Love you, man."

"We need to hurry," the paramedic urged us both.

"Go," I agreed, wanting Stephanie and the babies up in the helicopter with Dr. Hamilton as soon as possible. I also wanted to get away from the suffocating feelings of anger and guilt I felt whenever I was with my brothers.

Once Tony was secured, the stokes basket began to rise, again swinging erratically in the wind.

"Fuck," I muttered, scared to death.

Manoso tried hard to hide his nerves but couldn't quite do it completely. "It'll be okay. These guys do this kind of shit all the time. Right Tank?"

The big guy cleared his throat. "Sure."

"Oh Lawd," Lula fretted, worrying her thumbnail with her teeth.

It seemed like an eternity had passed, but finally they hauled Tony on board. As soon as he disappeared from sight, my attention turned back to Stephanie.

"Alright, Cupcake—you and the twins are going for a little ride, but just a short one. You're really going flying on this adventure, so do me a favor and wake up to enjoy it, okay?"

My voice started to choke as I saw the stokes basket once more being lowered to the ground.

"I love you and the babies with all that I am, Stephanie. You hear me?"

My throat completely closed then, and I felt the emotion behind my eyes. Refusing to give in, I closed them until I had control once more. It wasn't going to do anyone any good if I broke down.

"I'll get to you just as soon as I can, Cupcake."

The litter was on the ground, and I gently laid her on top of it, watching the paramedics secure the blankets and straps around her tightly. Stephanie must've sensed the change—perhaps missing the warmth from my body—for she opened her eyes a slit and looked around dazedly.

"Joe?"

"I'm here." I knelt down next to her; already so soaked I no longer noticed the wetness of the ground. "You're going to be okay, Cupcake, I promise."

"Our babies—"

"Our babies will be okay too," I promised, leaning down to kiss her lightly on the lips.

"Where am I?" she questioned weakly.

"You're just leaving the swamp. They're flying you and Tony to Helene Fuld—"

"Tony?"

"Don't worry. You just concentrate on resting."

"I don't understand—"

"I know you don't, baby. It's okay. I'm leaving right now to go meet you at the hospital."

She panicked then, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Come with me!"

"I can't, Steph. There's not enough room." My heart hurt from having to deny her anything. "I need you to be strong for just a little bit longer, Cupcake," I begged, trying to smile encouragingly. "I'll be there before you know it."

Her eyes widened momentarily, still leaking moisture, but she was oblivious to anyone around her but me. "I'm scared, Joe," she confessed raggedly.

"I know you are," I soothed, running my hand across her feverish forehead, "but Dr. Hamilton's on board that helicopter, and he's going to take good care of all of you until I can get there. I promise."

Nodding bravely, she stared up at me so trustingly that I about lost it.

"I love you," she whispered.

_Oh God. _"I love you too, Stephanie," I responded reverently. My lips met hers in one more kiss before the signal was given to send up the stokes basket.

Slowly it rose, and I prayed every inch of the way up. No sooner had they hauled the litter into the chopper than I searched out Rogers. Knowing he was there the night my father was murdered, made talking with him that much harder, but he _was_ my boss.

"I'm leaving," I stated, leaving no room for argument.

"Of course," he agreed readily. "Do what you need to do. Reynolds and I'll take care of securing the scene and getting this group out of here." He paused awkwardly and then plunged ahead, "I'm taking Paul in though, along with Stampler, to the precinct."

"Good," I agreed, surprising both him and Paul, who was listening intently nearby.

"It's the safest place for you right now," I added to Paul impatiently, wanting to get on the road to Stephanie. I found my backpack where I'd left it on the ground and swung it over my shoulder.

"There won't be any bail," Rogers pressed, "at least not until we get this nightmare straightened out."

_Did he really think I cared about any of this shit?_

"Have someone contact our sister Cathy Lombardy," I said dismissively, already moving past him. In a louder voice, I called out. "Manoso if you're going with me, you'd better haul ass!"

"I'm ready."

"I am too," Cheryl added determinedly.

Rogers kept right on talking, oblivious to my frustration. "I hate taking Jessie down to the precinct, but I have no choice."

_What the fuck? Shut up!_

I looked over to where the teenager was clutching her backpack to her chest and staring up at the helicopter. She looked completely lost and terrified. I'd noticed she'd made no attempt to go near either the still unconscious Bulldog or her sulking brother.

Taking the flashlight Tank handed to me, I nodded my thanks and moved away from the clearing toward the road.

"Morelli, wait—" Rogers ordered, following two steps behind me. "We need to talk about what to do with Jessie—"

"What's going to happen to me?" Paul called out as well.

"Call Tony's attorney," I called over my shoulder without stopping.

Rogers huffed, "Morelli—"

"For Christ's sake, Brett—be quiet!" Reynolds chided. "If your brains were leather, you couldn't saddle a flea the way you're acting right now. Let the boy get to his wife!"

Nothing else mattered at this point but Stephanie.

My eyes met Manoso's. "Let's go."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

I was still crying—scared out of my mind—when Dr. Hamilton moved to my side in the helicopter. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see another doctor working feverishly over Tony.

_What the hell had happened?_

"I want you to relax, Stephanie," Dr. Hamilton spoke loudly over the noise of the engine and the blades whirring above us.

I took a shaky breath, trying in vain to calm down. If I'd thought I wanted Joe earlier when I was held hostage in the trailer, it was _nothing _compared to my need for him right then.

"My babies—"

"Hush. You let _me _worry about those babies. From what I've seen up until this point, you're a strong woman. Together we're going to do everything we can to ensure the health of all three of you."

"Help—I'm losing him!" the doctor beside us suddenly cried out, and Dr. Hamilton turned immediately to assist.

_Losing him? _

"Oh Christ! He's bleeding again—see? Right there. We need to get that bullet out _now_!"

_Bullet? Oh my God—Tony!_

Beginning to lose the battle with consciousness against my will, my heart lurched as I heard the doctor's next words.

"Shit, he's gone blue. I've got code blue!"

_I've got code blue!_


	21. Chapter 21

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Once again, I need to thank everyone for the continued feedback and support you've given to this story (and series). The friendships I've made through the journey far surpass any satisfaction I could've felt from the writing itself.

Julie, my fabulous Beta reader, you're still hanging in there with me after all of these chapters. Bless you and your talent. What a gift you give to me and everyone else through your abilities and generosity. Thank you!

This chapter will seem much different after the manic energy of the past several. And there is NO cliffhanger of sorts. How 'bout them apples! But here's the truth...I have ZERO medical background. While I've done research into what I present, clearly I'm not an expert. Please don't slam me for any inaccuracies, okay?

Hope you all have a great week. :-)

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One

**Ranger's POV**

"I hear the chopper."

"Yeah. Me too. How far, you think?"

"Quarter of a mile at most."

"What time is it anyway?" Morelli asked, slogging steadily through the muddy conditions of the road. Fatigue was evident in his voice, which was no surprise.

All _three_ of us were exhausted, and together made a filthy sight.

"It's almost nine o'clock," Cheryl Sullivan responded with quiet succinctness.

The woman had flat out amazed me with her ability to keep up with Morelli and me since we'd left the trailer—never once offering a complaint about the conditions as we'd moved at a breathtaking pace. Clearly, she was in top physical condition to have managed it, which had me wondering if she still had an affiliation with the Air Force that kept her training at such a high level of intensity. But then I'd berated myself for having given her even _that _much consideration in my brain and had forcibly stopped myself from thinking about anything other than Stephanie's well being.

There'd been zero conversation along the trail, so intent was our focus on getting Morelli to the helicopter that would take him to the hospital—

And Stephanie.

My mind was firing on a surplus of cylinders. So much had happened in the past several hours; it was hard to process it all. Despite my realization that Stephanie and Morelli were the right fit for one another, my heart continued to refuse to let go of the love I had for her. It was killing me not to have been the one to rescue her; not to have been the one to hold her in my arms as she collapsed; not to have been the man she cried out for in her feverish delirium—the one she'd wanted on the helicopter with her.

Not to be hers—period.

I couldn't see Morelli in the dark, as our flashlights were trained on the ground. But I knew he looked like hell. He was an emotional mess—brought on by not only tonight's multiple crises, but also from the flashback he'd had earlier regarding his father's death.

_How much more could the man take?_

He needed to deal with it all _before _seeing Stephanie, which made me reluctantly grateful for the shrink's presence. The two of them needed time to talk, and it wasn't going to happen if I was with them all the way to the hospital.

_Sigh._

I was getting weary of being unselfish and putting Morelli's needs ahead of my own, especially knowing he'd gotten everything I'd ever wanted. And yet, I couldn't deny my respect for him had risen exponentially in the past week—ever since he'd confronted me in Dr. Hamilton's office following the paternity test. A week ago, he'd admitted to having made mistakes with Stephanie. He'd acknowledged the fact she did love me in her own way, and he'd offered to not stand in the way of our remaining friends.

And certainly in the past several hours, he'd proven once in for all he'd stop at nothing to protect her, including putting his own life on the line—unarmed.

It was truly a conundrum in my mind. What the hell was I supposed to do with my feelings? My jealousy? My resentment?

My respect?

The sound of the helicopter grew louder. We were close.

Within minutes, we emerged from the swamp onto the main road down the street from Lil and Ermine's places. Cop cars swarmed the area, having blocked off the street in order for the helicopter to land. Lester was there too, standing off to the side and talking on the phone.

A man, whom I assumed was the pilot, met us.

"Detective Morelli?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Darryl Orent. I've been authorized to fly you over to Helene Fuld."

"Thanks. Let's go." Morelli's responses were clipped. He was barely holding it together—his sole focus getting to Stephanie.

Again, I had to battle a combination of envy and admiration.

He made the move to follow the pilot, and I put my hand on his arm.

"What?" he asked impatiently, shrugging it off. "Let's move."

"You go ahead," I said stoically. "Give me the keys to your truck, and I'll have Lester drive it over to the hospital for you. I'll take my car and meet you there."

The road was lit from all of the cop cars along with flares for the helicopter to have known where to land. I could easily see the surprise on Morelli's face at my offer.

"You don't have to—" He paused and his jaw stiffened slightly before continuing. "You can come with me."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cheryl watching us both curiously.

"Thanks," I said reluctantly, "but I think I'm of better use in other ways right now."

Despite his impatience, Morelli stared at me for a moment, his eyes gleaming with an unidentifiable emotion.

He finally said, "You deserve to be there for her too, Ranger. God knows, you've sacrificed a hell of a lot this week on both of our behalves."

I tipped my head in acknowledgement. "Perhaps. However, nothing was given that I didn't want to give."

"For Stephanie," he said bluntly yet without rancor.

"For Stephanie," I agreed simply. _What was the point of bullshit?_

"Understood. And oddly enough, I'm grateful." He held out his hand. "We'll talk later."

For the first time since I'd met her, Cheryl looked uncertain.

"I'd like to go with you if that's alright, Joe."

"Sure," he said impatiently and then added almost flippantly, "Maybe you can help me get my head on straight before we get to the hospital."

"Maybe," she agreed, one eyebrow raised.

She shared a look with me then. We both knew Morelli had reached breaking point.

"Good work," she praised me, and my heart filled with unexpected pride.

I wasn't sure if she was referring to what had transpired in the swamp or just now with Morelli, but either way I had to forcibly remind myself not to care what she thought.

"Yeah—you too," I offered gruffly, already turning away.

The woman, with her golden eyes and eerily enticing strength, was becoming a nuisance to my already confused brain. I was relieved to be getting away from her.

Morelli tossed me his truck keys, and together he and Cheryl made a run for the helicopter.

Lester wasted no time in joining me. "What's going on? Nobody's talking out here, but it's obviously bad. Is Stephanie okay?"

Forcing myself to turn away from the helicopter and my conflicted emotions, I jerked my head toward Lil's place.

"Let's grab a couple of vehicles and head over to the hospital. I'll fill you in as we walk.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"All set?" the pilot Darryl asked once Cheryl and I were buckled in and had slipped on our headsets.

I gave him the thumbs up. "Have you by chance heard any word from the other helicopter?"

His face sobered. "About forty minutes ago, I heard the pilot telling the hospital they had a code blue on board, but there's been nothing since then."

My heart lurched into my throat. _Oh God. _It _had _to be Tony, right? I felt a conflicted sense of guilt praying for my brother's potential death over that of my wife. This whole nightmare was wreaking hell on me.

Seeing the expression on my face, the pilot added, "I'm sorry, man. I'll get you to the hospital as fast as I can."

Cheryl noted my expression as well. Through her headset, she asked, "Is there any possibility of switching the detective and me to a private channel, Darryl?"

"No problem," he replied without offense, immediately flipping a switch up front so he could no longer hear us.

_Why the heck had she asked for a private line?_

Cheryl and I sat there in silence, while the helicopter lifted and took off. _Ten minutes. _I just needed to hang in there for ten fucking more minutes until I could make certain for myself Stephanie was okay. If anything happened to her—

"Let's talk, Joe," Cheryl's steady voice interrupted my train of thought.

_Talk? _The _last _thing I wanted to do was talk right then.

"Later, okay?" I responded tersely. "I can't handle anything other than getting to Stephanie right now."

And it was true. If anyone said the wrong thing to me, I was afraid I'd simply implode.

"_Now_ is when you need it—more than ever," she returned in the same compassionate tone. "You were right a minute ago when you joked that you needed to get your head on straight. The truth is if you walk into that hospital in your present state, you're going to do or say something you're going to regret."

"No, I'm not." My voice was brusque to the point of rudeness. "The _only _thing I need is to get to my wife, and I'm sure as hell not going to say anything to upset _her._"

"What about Dr. Hamilton? Or the doctors tending to Tony? Or—your mother?"

_My mother_.

Jesus, I hadn't even thought about my mother since the flashback that afternoon. How _was _I going to face her knowing what she'd almost done when I'd been a child in trying to cover up my father's murder? Where was I supposed to find the energy to absorb and console her fears over Tony and Paul?"

"I don't want to see anyone but Stephanie," I announced somewhat belligerently, surprising myself with the depth of my attitude.

I couldn't afford to think of anyone _but_ Stephanie—not when I was feeling so emotionally precarious. And damn it, the woman beside me should fucking already well know that as a professional.

"Joe, do you trust me?"

_Trust her? _ I barely _knew _her.

Against my will, thoughts of what Cheryl had done for me in the past three days came to mind. Twice she'd dropped everything to come to my assistance in an effort to keep me from breaking down. Somehow from the little I knew about counseling, I didn't think that was standard protocol. This last time she'd been willing to struggle through the mud and rain with the rest of us; had accepted a firearm in anticipation of protecting my brothers, my wife and myself, and had been the one to tend to Stephanie, assisting with her IV and monitoring her condition.

"I trust you," I admitted in a low voice—one she wouldn't have heard if not for the speakers on the headsets.

"Then trust me when I tell you that right now—here with me—is a safe place to talk about what you're feeling—"

"What I'm feeling?" I repeated, letting out a sarcastic snort. "Hell, I'm beyond _feeling _anymore. _Nothing _else matters other than Stephanie. Now whether that's right or wrong, I don't—"

"Why wouldn't that be right?"

I stopped and stared at her in the glow from the instrument panel in the otherwise dark night.

"My _brother _may very well be dead right now," I responded as if she were dense. "You heard the pilot—there was a code blue on the helicopter. It's either him or—or Steph, or—"

"I'm not a doctor, but I think it's safe to assume it's Tony at this point," Cheryl continued to speak in what I was beginning to realize was her patented, straightforward manner.

As a cop, her ability to speak my language—no bullshit—appealed to me.

"I understand the sense of family obligation that's been put on your shoulders, but you made _vows _to Stephanie—in sickness and health—to be there for her. That _must _supersede everything else."

"I _know _that," I snapped in frustration, "but it's pretty fucking hard not to feel guilty knowing what Tony did for me—what he's sacrificed for me. And I haven't even been able to talk with him about it yet. God, I haven't even been able to talk with _Stephanie_ about it yet. She knows _none _of what I've remembered, and I feel so—"

I paused uncomfortably.

"So what," she encouraged quietly.

"Alone," I confessed in a whisper, thinking she couldn't have heard me.

But she had. I could see it in her eyes, and something compelled me to continue even though she hadn't asked me.

"I _need_ for Stephanie to wake up and to be okay, Cheryl. I need to tell her what's happened—to feel connected and loved by her. Right now I'm so fucking lost—"

I gulped, surprised at the unwelcome bubble of emotion expanding in my chest. "My mind is no longer my own right now," I continued hoarsely. "Between the flashbacks and the treachery of my brothers, I don't know what to believe or whom to trust in any longer. I—I feel like I don't even know my own mother at the moment. It's like my whole childhood was a lie. The _only _thing I have to cling to is Stephanie and our children. If something happens to them, I—I—"

_Oh God._

The emotion was threatening to consume me, clawing at my throat and eyes to escape. While I'd been choked up a time or two in my adult life, I'd never out and out cried.

Never.

_Dear God, I hadn't cried since the night of my father's death—not since I was eight years old._

"I can't lose her," I rasped, leaning my elbows on my knees and pressing my fingers against my eyes to try and stem the tidal wave about to erupt.

Cheryl placed her hand on my back. The simple gesture was my undoing. I didn't _want _her to touch me.

_I only wanted Stephanie._

The fear I'd been holding back exploded in hot, ragged tears, my shoulders shaking with the unfamiliar sensations. I was embarrassed as hell, but couldn't seem to stop from purging the anguish from my system.

"_Why _did they lie to me?" I mumbled wretchedly. "I can understand as a kid, but not to have told me as an adult what happened in that fucking garage—not to have included me in the pain of their secrets. You have no idea—"

"What _did _happen the night your father died," Cheryl's voice cut through my ramblings with controlled empathy.

In halting, jerky phrases, I managed to share the nightmare of that night—surprised at the increased memory of the details, despite my having been a child. Now that my mind had freed itself of the past, I had total recall of events surrounding that night, and I held nothing back from the psychologist.

"Tony loves you, Joe," she spoke quietly, after I'd finally quieted again. "No matter what _has _happened or _will _happened, your brother—_both _of your brothers—love you."

Tears were still burning down my cheeks. _Christ, it was mortifying to have lost my self-control. _

"I know," I agreed, my voice shuddering. "And I _do _love them both too, but it's all so confusing right now—both in my brain and in reality. My emotions are conflicted. I don't know what to believe or trust, and I can't handle that—not when I'm so fucking worried about Stephanie and the babies."

Her grip grew tighter, as she squeezed my shoulder. "And that's _okay_. For right now—that's okay. You are a grown man with a wife and two children on the way. _They _must be your priority, and any sane person is going to recognize the fact."

That brought about a slightly amused grunt from me. "You don't know my family. We aren't necessarily characterized as being sane."

I knew what she'd meant however, and the thought struck me that ten days ago I'd had no idea if I'd ever be able to trust my own wife again. Her lies and betrayal had been equally—if not more—torturous to deal with. And yet we'd gotten through the paternity nightmare stronger than ever. Perhaps I could navigate the one before me with my family as well at some point.

But not now.

I really did only need Stephanie, and I was going to do everything in my power to make sure she was healthy and knew how much I loved her and our children. And after talking with Cheryl, I realized I was okay with only being able to do one thing at a time.

Taking a deep breath, I hastily wiped my eyes and sat back, letting the tension slowly release from my body.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." She dropped her hand back into her lap.

"You were right. I needed to get that out. I feel like I can think again—at least for now."

"Good. Healing isn't going to happen overnight, Joe. This tragedy was twenty-seven years in the making. It's going to take a lot to work your way through it—for all of you. But right now, _I'm _giving you permission to focus on Stephanie and your babies. I know you love Tony and your family, despite your current frustrations with all of them, but there's nothing you can do for him except pray."

"My mother—"

"Has two daughters who can help support her. It doesn't always have to be you, does it? Some people might think your belief that you're the savior a little egotistical on your part, however I understand it's how you were raised to think. Well, I'm telling you as a professional _no _person can live up to that kind of expectation. As I said before, you're a grown man. It's time for you to claim _your _family—with Stephanie and your children."

"Okay," I nodded, once more breathing out the last of the stress. "I'm okay now."

"For now," she agreed in concerned. "There's so much in you that's been hiding for twenty-seven years. Now that the lid has finally been lifted off the pot, it's all going to want to come boiling out. I can help you come through the emotions without your becoming too burned."

"Thanks," I said again, smiling sheepishly. "You won't tell anyone I cried, right? I have a tough cop reputation to uphold."

She smiled too. Crossing her mouth, she said, "My lips are sealed."

"Do you give _all _your patients this kind of one-on-one treatment?" I joked half-heartedly, still uncomfortable with the depth of emotion I'd allowed her to witness.

"I have a reputation for crossing the patient/client boundary line. My boss hates it, because it's gotten me into trouble a time or two." A shadow crossed her face momentarily before it disappeared. "But I care very deeply for the people who've entrusted me with their deepest thoughts and feelings. I'm willing to go the extra mile."

"Even in a swamp," I smirked admiringly.

Looking out the window, I saw Helene Fuld lit up like a Christmas tree. My heart started pumping harder in anticipation of finding Stephanie.

Cheryl tapped the pilot on the shoulder, and he flipped the switch to three-way communication again.

"Any idea if someone is meeting us there?" she asked.

"I haven't heard," he replied, "but I'll have you on the launch pad in less than a minute. "Hang on, folks."

No sooner had we landed than the large, sliding glass doors to the hospital opened and a petite, dark-haired nurse came out onto the launch pad, grabbing hold of her hair flying in the wind from the helicopter blades. Once the rotors stopped moving, she helped to open the door, allowing Cheryl and I to exit into the now frigid November night air.

"I'm Brenda Eggert," the nurse announced, shaking my hand, "from the maternal fetal unit. Dr. Hamilton sent me up here to meet you. Come on, I'll take you down."

"How's Stephanie?" I asked breathlessly, practically mowing the woman down in my haste to get to my wife. "How are the babies?"

"Everyone is stable for now," she smiled, opening the door to a stairwell. "It's just one flight down from here. This way is faster than the elevator. I know you're in a hurry."

"Is she conscious?" I demanded.

Now that we were inside the hospital, I noticed Brenda was physically distancing herself from both Cheryl and me.

"In and out," she replied kindly. "Her temperature is still much higher than we'd like to see, but Dr. Hamilton has given her something in the IV to help with that. He's most concerned about pneumonia, bronchitis or another infection developing in her lungs at this point. Being in a swamp with all that rain and fungi wasn't good for either her or the babies."

My gut twisted with worry. "Are the meds safe?"

"Perfectly safe," she assured me, still making certain to leave plenty of space between her and us.

"And my brother—Tony Morelli—any word on him? He came in at the same time as Stephanie with a gunshot wound.

"Sorry. I wasn't the one to meet their helicopter. I'll call down to ER though, and see what I can find out."

She took another discreet step away from me once we got to the third floor.

_What the hell was going on? _And then it dawned on me. Cheryl and I most likely smelled somewhere between a pack of wet dogs and a swamp—what from all the rain and mud and other muck we'd been in. I panicked, knowing how much smells were bothering Stephanie of late. _Would she even be able to withstand the smell of herself once she awakened, or would she be violently ill?_

"I don't think Stephanie has had any Zofran since this morning," I said to Brenda, as we passed the nurses station for the maternal fetal floor.

"I'll notify Dr. Hamilton, but don't worry," she encouraged, "A woman's body can do amazing things when pregnant."

"Listen," I began awkwardly. "I know Dr. Sullivan and I smell, and Stephanie—"

"A nurse is in with her right now giving a sponge bath," Brenda announced. "Dr. Hamilton would like you to clean up as well before going in to see her—both for the smell and the potential germs you might be carrying. There's a shower right down here, along with some scrubs you can put on."

_More delays. _I just wanted to see Stephanie, but I also knew cleaning up was the right thing to do. Stephanie didn't need the added burden of getting sick or having to relive the trauma of her abduction thanks to the odor on me.

"Fine. Show us where, but can we please hurry?"

Brenda escorted us to the men and women's locker rooms, handing each of us a change of clothing. The steamy warmth of the shower barely registered in my brain in my haste to be finished. In less than five minutes, I was tossing on a pair of scrubs. Hurrying out into the hallway, I found Cheryl already waiting for me—wet hair and all.

"I've had enough contact with water to last me a lifetime," she remarked with a quirky half-smile. "I'm positively prune-like."

"Where's Brenda? I want to see Stephanie," I replied shortly. "My patience had once more flown out the window." _Where the hell was my wife?_

"She went off to find out about Tony, but Stephanie is right down the hallway there—" She pointed. "Room 311."

I immediately went to move past her, and she put out her hand to stop me. "I'll be down the hall in the waiting room if you need me."

"Thanks, but if you want to go on home—"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. You or Stephanie might need me yet tonight, and I'd like to see for myself that she and Tony are both okay before I head out." She patted my arm. "Don't worry—I'm fine."

"Okay." Again I tried to move and was stopped.

"What?" I asked in irritation.

"Can I call someone for you about your dog?"

_Good grief—I'd completely forgotten about Bob! _

The poor thing was probably about ready to bust his bladder—that is if he hadn't already. Who knew what kind of damage he might've done to the house since that morning.

Running a hand through my hair, I grabbed my cell phone and scrolled through the contacts for Mooch's number.

"This is the number for my cousin Mooch. I'd appreciate it if you would call him to take care of Bob—and RJ too."

"RJ?"

"The hamster on the kitchen counter."

She quickly copied the number into her cell phone. "Got it. Now go!"

She didn't have to encourage me twice, and I was down the hallway in a flash. Pushing open the door, which was already slightly ajar, I expected to find a whole team of medical personnel in there working on Stephanie, or at least the nurse giving the sponge bath, but instead it was empty except for Steph.

_Finally._

She was lying so still in the hospital bed—her long, dark curls scattered in disarray about the pillow, that at first it frightened me. The majority of her face was pale, except for her cheeks, which were twin flames of red advertising her fever. Fetal monitor and IV lines wound out of her body like spider webs. My heart thumped hard at seeing one hand cupped protectively over her abdomen on top of the blanket.

She'd never looked more beautiful to me in our entire lives.

And that's when I heard it. Sounding like a washing machine running on high or a pack of galloping horses, I listened for the first time to the sound of our babies' heartbeats coming through the monitor. My throat closed at the miraculous sound of life. We hadn't been able to hear anything at our first two appointments, but now there they were—both heartbeats strong and steady.

Slipping quietly over to the side of the bed, I sat down gingerly. More than likely I wasn't supposed to be on the bed, but I didn't care. I selfishly needed some form of contact with my wife more than my next breath.

Pushing back a lock of her hair that had fallen across her forehead, I leaned down to brush a soft kiss across her lips.

"I'm here, Cupcake."

I hadn't expected her to respond, so when she whispered, 'Joe', I jerked slightly, feeling guilty I'd disturbed her. Quickly moving to stand, I paused when she mumbled with her eyes still closed, "Don't go—need you."

"I need you too," I pledged on a sigh. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"Love you."

"And I love you—more than anything."

"Hear it?"

"I do. It's amazing. All three of you are amazing."

"So tired."

"I know. Just rest, okay?"

"The babies?"

"Are going to be fine," I assured her, praying I wasn't lying due to lack of knowledge. Everything sounded okay on the monitor, but that didn't necessarily mean it was.

_Where the hell was the doctor anyway? A whole team of doctors should be there making certain my family was going to be all right._

Worry lines appeared on Stephanie's forehead. "I'm sorry. I put us in danger—"

"Shhhh…stop. No one blames you, Steph—least of all me. I'm sorry my family's trouble put you into such a dangerous situation."

"Tony?" she was struggling to get words out. Her eyes still hadn't opened. _Was that okay?_

"I don't know," I confessed. "Please try not to worry. I only want you to concentrate on feeling better."

She ignored me, her voice growing more anxious by the minute. "Mare?"

_Jeez, I didn't know her status either. _What unbelievable hell one man had wreaked in such a short span of time. There was no torture bad enough to appease the rage I felt toward Bruce Jackson.

"I'll find out," I pledged. Lacing our fingers together over her belly, I anticipated her next question. "Bob's okay too. Stop worrying and start resting."

"Don't feel good."

While my heart was rejoicing over the fact she was coherent enough to speak, it ached with the knowledge of what she'd endured out in that swamp. Fresh anger at Bulldog's actions surged through me, and I had to take a calming breath. Having an attitude wasn't going to do Stephanie any good.

Retribution would have to wait until later.

"I know you don't," I soothed, rubbing my free hand over her forehead and feeling the warmth radiating from her skin. "I wish you'd try to sleep."

"Hungry."

_That was good, right? _

"You sleep a bit, and I'll see what I can get for you," I bargained, still concerned over her fever and lethargy.

Either she heeded my advice or passed out—I wasn't sure which—but regardless she went silent again.

The door to her room opened, and Dr. Hamilton came in followed by Brenda, the on-duty nurse.

"Mr. Morelli—Joe—I see you've made it," he said briskly, reaching out to shake my hand.

The two of us had gotten off to a rather tenuous start last week in his office when I'd had to leave the appointment early in order to appear in court. With my emotions off the chart as they were, I hoped he was planning on giving me a hard time now. I wasn't certain if I'd be able to restrain myself if he did.

As a result, I went immediately on the defensive. "I know you must be angry I allowed Stephanie to be in this kind of danger. I take full responsibility—"

He held up his hand. "Stop right there. I'm not about to play the blame game. I don't know what happened, and I don't need to know other than what pertains to helping Stephanie and the babies. I hold no animosity toward you, Joe."

Exhaling slowly, I said, "I appreciate it. I have so many questions—"

"I'm sure you do, but let me tell you what I know first," he offered, pulling up a rolling stool. "Honestly, I'm more concerned with Stephanie's health right now than that of the babies. As far as I can tell, everything is okay with both of them. As you can hear, both heartbeats are nice and strong."

"I can't believe I'm listening to them."

He smiled in understanding. "Stephanie has had no bleeding or cramping, so that's all good. From everything I can tell, she had a rough go of it out there in that swamp. The good news, if you want to call it that, is it appears her captor dragged her on her back rather than her stomach. She has numerous cuts and bruises, but I believe none will prove to be serious, seeing as we got to them so early." His voice dropped.

Staring bitterly down at a particularly large bruise on her arm, I swallowed hard. _Bulldog would pay._

"I sense a 'But' coming."

Nodding reluctantly, the doctor continued, "The amount of exposure she had to the rain and cold, plus all of the fungi out there in the swamp makes her a prime candidate for pneumonia—or at the very least bronchitis or other respiratory ailment. Couple that with the anemia, the nausea and this abnormally low blood pressure of hers, and it's a lot for her body to fight against. And of course everything _she_ fights against means the babies are fighting against as well."

"So the babies _are _at risk?"

"To an extent—it depends. Pregnancy is an amazing miracle in and of itself. By nature the fetuses are going to take what they need from Stephanie in order to survive. But because _her _immune system is weakened, it puts her at greater risk for bacterial infection."

He looked at me seriously, tapping a pen against his clipboard. "I won't lie to you. Pneumonia is of particular concern to me. If Stephanie develops it, she would be at a higher risk of complications from the infection as would the babies. "

"Such as?" I questioned, trying to remain calm but feeling the anxiety building in my chest.

"Well, fever alone can cause risk to both her and the twins. It can lead to miscarriage, birth defects and early labor, which is something we're already concerned about. Pneumonia can also reduce the oxygen supply to the placenta and increase the chance of fetal loss."

I looked down to where Stephanie was resting beside me, her face still flushed in spots. "Is there _anything _you can do to prevent infection?"

Dr. Hamilton's brash, almost arrogant personality, which had annoyed me tremendously a week ago, was now a welcome relief. The man knew what he was talking about as well as what to do about it.

"I'm going to suggest we put her on a preventative course of antibiotics."

My hands were getting sweaty. "Is that safe for the babies?"

He nodded. "Yes, contrary to what's always been common thought, the medical community has been in agreement for several years now that most antibiotics are safe for pregnant women when fighting infections. Of course there's no guarantee the drug I prescribe is the one best suited to fight a potential bacteria, _and _there's really no guarantee we _can _combat it preventatively. But, in my judgment, it's worth trying. I'm not comfortable with the 'wait in see' approach—at least not in Stephanie's case."

"But should we wait and consult with her first? It _is _her body, and they're her babies too."

He stared at me. "Joe, she's going to be in and out of it until we can combat that fever. It isn't wise to wait. Are you following me here?"

He was trying to be subtle in his warning, but I heard the threat loud and clear. Either we tried to prevent something now or run the risk of _not _being able to stop something unthinkable from happening later.

Once more studying my wife's beautiful face, I said in a rough, low voice, "Do it."

"Good man," Dr. Hamilton nodded, standing up. Scribbling on a pad, he turned to Brenda, who'd been standing there silently up until this point. "Brenda, here's what I'd like you to get started for me."

"Yes, doctor," she obeyed. She looked at me, "Mr. Morelli, I checked down in ER. Your brother has been taken into emergency surgery. That's all I know."

"He's alive?" I asked breathlessly. "I heard he went code blue on the flight over."

"He did," Dr. Hamilton acknowledged. "I was able to assist Dr. Francisco in stabilizing him until we arrived." He paused and grimaced. "I won't lie to you. He's not in a good way, Joe. For sure, they'll have to remove the kidney with the bullet in it. Too much damage has been done to repair it. But between blood loss and—"

"I understand," I interrupted, looking down at the floor. "I appreciate the update. Do you know if my mother has arrived?" _For that matter, someone needed to contact Angelina._

Brenda shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't."

"That's okay." I tired to hide my disappointment.

"The sofa over there turns into a bed," Dr. Hamilton noted. "I'll have Brenda make it up for you shortly. Are you hungry?"

Despite the physical hunger I felt, I knew I'd puke my guts out if I tried to put food in my stomach anytime soon—not with this stress load I was carrying.

"I'm okay, but Stephanie woke up when I first arrived and said she was hungry."

"Did she?" Dr. Hamilton looked surprised. "That's good—very good. I'll have them bring up a tray, and we'll see if we can rouse her enough to eat something. I did give her some Zofran in the helicopter to help with any nausea she might encounter."

"What can _I _do for her, doctor?"

His face softened slightly. "From the little I know of the situation, I can only assume you went through your own hell tonight, Joe. I'd like to see you try to rest some too. You're not going to be any good to Stephanie if you break down either physically _or_ mentally."

_Rest. Yeah right—if he only knew what all was threatening my mental stability!_

"Cheryl Sullivan has been helping me," I admitted. "I'm not too proud to talk with her if necessary."

"Good," he nodded approvingly. "Stephanie may very well need her too once she's more lucid. Until then, I'll leave you both to get some rest."

"One more thing—" I questioned. "Another friend of ours was assaulted by the same man who took Steph. Mary Lou Stankovic was brought in this afternoon with a head wound. They were concerned about internal bleeding. Can someone find out for me how she's doing?"

"I will," Brenda offered, as she made her way toward the door.

Dr. Hamilton frowned. "No punishment is severe enough for the man who did all of this."

The fury in my gut churned anew at his declaration.

"No, there isn't."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

I hated hospitals with a passion.

The smells, the sounds, the auras of death and despair—all of them combined to make my stomach roll uncomfortably as I stepped onto the third floor maternal fetal unit. Stopping at the nurse's station, I learned Stephanie's room was 311, but no visitors except for immediate family were allowed.

_Shit._

Not about to be deterred from getting answers, I headed down the hallway toward her room. Maybe Morelli would come out if I knocked. On the way, I passed the waiting room and saw Cheryl Sullivan slumped in the corner of a couch, sound asleep. Hesitating only for a moment, I headed into the room and took a seat in the chair across from her.

She must've sensed my presence, for she immediately opened her eyes.

"You all right?" I asked, unable to prevent myself from extending the courtesy.

She immediately sat up and fluffed at what must've been naturally curly, honey-colored hair. It had been straight when she'd first arrived at Lil's that afternoon, but now clung in tiny ringlets about her head and shoulders similar to how she'd worn it at The Pokey the other night.

"I'm fine," she said in her maddeningly efficient tone. "And you?"

"Just peachy," I quipped sardonically, and then added almost enviously, "You're clean."

"Doctor's orders. Anyone going into Stephanie's room has to be free of germs and potential bacteria from the swamp. I hate to be the one to break the news, but you're smelling a little ripe too."

I had no doubt I was, which meant I wouldn't be able to get in to see Babe no matter what. _Damn it! _I was about going out of my mind with worry over her.

"What've you heard?"

"Nothing yet. I saw the doctor leave about thirty minutes ago, but Joe hasn't come out yet. I'm sure if you shower, they'll—"

"I'm not immediate family," I said gruffly, annoyed at the jealousy I'd allowed to creep back into my heart.

The psychologist assessed me closely with those bewitching golden eyes of hers. "Perhaps not, but clearly you are someone important to her—and Joe."

I couldn't prevent a derisive snort from escaping. "Not Morelli—trust me."

She shrugged indifferently. "Whatever you say. I disagree with you, but that hardly matters, does it? It's what _you_ believe that counts."

_What was THAT supposed to mean?_

I opened my mouth to ask her and then just as quickly closed it. No way was I going to allow this woman access to my brain—in _any _way.

"How are you getting home?" I asked, my eyes narrowing. "Your car is still at the Conroy place, isn't it?

"It is, but I'm not concerned. I'll probably stick around here for awhile in case I'm needed, and then I can catch a cab home."

"Do you do this for _all _your clients?" I couldn't resist asking in disbelief. "Do you charge by the hour or something? How the hell do you make a living?" _Shit. _I hadn't meant to ask that.

She smiled dourly. "You sound like my boss. I do what it takes to help my clients, Mr. Manoso. Crises don't necessarily know how to tell time."

_Mr. Manoso? _Evidently I'd hit a nerve, as she was back to being prim and formal with me again.

_And why was that such a goddamned turn on to me anyway? _

Frustrated with the basic carnal urges my body felt after having been celibate for weeks, I purposely stood and held out my hand.

"Give me your keys."

"I beg your pardon?" she asked in that prissy tone of hers.

"The keys to that heap of junk you drive. Give them to me, and I'll have someone drive it over to you."

She snapped her fingers. "Just like that?"

"You got a problem with 'just like that'?"

"Why are you offering?"

"Because I'm _just_ that kind of guy," I said sarcastically. "Look, do you want your car or not?"

"I do—thank you," she admitted. "My keys are in my coat pocket though, which is still in the women's locker room. I'll be right back."

She stood to leave and then sat back down abruptly when Morelli walked into the room, looking exhausted and still anxious.

"How is she?" I asked immediately, no longer caring how I sounded to either of them. I _needed _to know how Babe was.

"Glad you made it," Morelli announced, surprising me with his sincerity. Taking the keys I offered him, he went on, "Thanks again for bringing my truck over."

He sat down next to Cheryl on the couch as far away as possible from me, which proved to emphasize how much I really did smell.

"Here's what I know."

He spent the next few minutes updating us. I noticed he'd reverted to cop mode—most likely because he'd become too emotional if he didn't try and remain somewhat detached. By the time he was finished, my head was spinning.

"You think Hamilton is the right doctor?" I immediately demanded once he'd finished. "You want a second opinion? I could pay to have—"

Morelli visibly bristled, but before he could retort, Cheryl broke in. "Dr. Hamilton is part of the best staff in the area for maternal fetal care. What he doesn't know, one of his colleagues _will_ _know_. Stephanie couldn't be in a better place right now."

Morelli allowed a small smile at her attitude. "I don't know about all that, but I do know the guy cares about Stephanie. He'll do whatever it takes for her and the babies. I can feel it."

"You two need anything else?" I pushed, wanting Stephanie to have the very best of care.

He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I don't know. I'm so fucking tired right now I don't know what end is up. They're bringing a tray up to see if they can coax some food into Steph. I want to be there for that. I told her I wouldn't leave her again. But—"

"You're worried about Tony," Cheryl guessed quietly.

He nodded miserably. "I just need to know if he made it through surgery, and if someone is with him, specifically my mother. I also need to get a hold of my sister-in-law—both of them actually. They've been hiding out in Atlantic City for the past nine days. They have a right to know what's happened with their husbands."

"You want me to send someone over to get the two of them and their kids?" I wondered gruffly, unsure of what compelled me to keep offering my assistance—especially when there was absolutely _nothing _in this for me.

"That'd be great," he nodded gratefully. "Would you be willing to call Angelina to make the arrangements?" He quickly gave me her cell phone number. He then said, "I know Dr. Hamilton won't agree to it tonight, but come back in the morning, and I'll see to it personally you get the chance to go in and see Stephanie for yourself."

My eyes narrowed. What kind of bullshit game was he playing now?

Sensing my thoughts, he shrugged, "I told you last week I'm not standing in your way of being friends with Steph. You put a hell of a lot on the line for both of us this week, and I'd be the biggest idiot in the world if I didn't acknowledge the fact you still love her."

"And you're okay with that?" I raised one corner of my mouth, knowing damned well he wasn't.

Flopping against the back of the couch, he looked at me warily. "By now I think we both know where each of us stands."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning Stephanie is my wife, and we're committed to our marriage. There is _nothing_ you can do to change that simple fact." He stood abruptly. "Look, I don't have time for this. There's not much either of you can do for us tonight—doctor's orders. I'll call if anything changes. In the meantime, you might as well get cleaned up, get some sleep and come back in the morning. If God's still listening to my begging and pleading, maybe she'll be a little better by then."

"How about I go down and see if I can find out about Tony and check to see if your mother is here?" Cheryl offered quietly.

Morelli looked at her appreciatively. "Thank you. That would really help put my mind at ease. You've been so great to me." He shifted his gaze to include me, adding, "Both of you have."

Standing, he smiled down at Cheryl, and my heart thumped hard. _Don't smile at her, you idiot. You already have the best woman in the world. Leave this one alone._

Whoa. Where had that thought come from?

"Later," he said to us both and beat a hasty retreat back to his wife.

Agitated by how much I'd allowed the shrink to see and hear, I stood as well. "I'll send someone over with your car as soon as possible."

She stood so that we were facing one another. "I appreciate it."

"It's nothing," I said dismissively, moving toward the door.

"Ranger," she said in a tone that had me pausing.

"Yeah?"

"I know it's easy to look for hidden meanings, games or ulterior motives, but in my professional opinion, Joe is offering you the real deal. He's okay with the fact that you love his wife—clearly not sexually, but in your heart. It's a generous offer."

I couldn't say why, but it made me uncomfortable having her privy to such intimate and personal knowledge about me. Would she think it horrific I was in love with a married woman—_not _that I cared what she thought. Even more uncomfortable was the knowledge Morelli was once again trying to be magnanimous toward me.

_Fuck all of it._

I needed to go.

Without a word or another look back, I headed for the door. Morelli had said I should go home and get some sleep, which was really almost laughable. Neither of us would sleep well until we knew Stephanie was going to be okay.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Frank and Helen were waiting outside of Stephanie's door when I got back to the room.

"Joseph!" Helen cried. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. "What on earth has happened? The police officer that called us barely gave us any information other than the fact that Stephanie had been abducted and was now in the hospital. Is she all right? How are the babies?"

"Let the boy speak, Helen," Frank spoke gruffly. "You all right, Joe? You look like hell."

"I want to see Stephanie," Helen demanded. "Where's my baby girl?"

"I'll let you in to take a peek," I agreed reluctantly, knowing Helen could be a loose cannon at times like _her _mother. _Thank God they'd left Edna at home_. "But you can't say anything, okay—not until tomorrow."

Helen opened her mouth to protest when Frank said forcibly, "Sounds good. But first what the hell happened?"

Once more reverting to cop speak, I laid out the afternoon and evening's events, minus my flashback, and ending with what Dr. Hamilton had shared with me. By the time I was finished, Helen had tears running down her cheeks.

"Oh Joseph—not the babies." She shook her head in denial.

I needed to get rid of them fast before I lost my self-control again. "Come on—just a peek and then go on home until tomorrow."

The three of us walked quietly into the room where Stephanie still lay sleeping.

Helen stifled a sob. "She's flushed."

"Fever," I announced softly. "They're working on bringing it down."

"Dear God," she choked out.

Beside her Frank looked equally as shaken. "We heard your brother was shot. Which one?"

"Tony. He's in surgery right now, but it's not looking good. The whole thing has been a goddamned nightmare."

Frank must've heard the weariness in my voice for he put his arm around Helen. "Let's go. There's nothing we can do until tomorrow. Let's give Joe the chance to get some sleep."

"I'll bring a pineapple upside down cake in the morning," she sniffed. "Stephanie will feel better after a few pieces of that."

My throat hurt from trying to keep my emotions stuffed down. "I'm sure she will."

"Your poor mother," Helen commiserated. "This is terrible. That monster!"

"Helen," Frank shushed her. He patted me on the back. "My baby girl is like a cat with nine lives, Joe. She and the babies will all come through this just fine. You watch."

I merely nodded—too tired to say much of anything else.

"We'll be back first thing in the morning," Helen fluttered, reaching out to touch Stephanie's leg through the blanket. She smothered a sob and headed for the door followed by Frank.

As soon as the door closed, I sank down into a chair next to the bed, reaching up to take Stephanie's hand where it still lay protectively over our babies.

"It's just you, me and the twins, Cupcake," I sighed; content to absorb the silence for a moment. "The nurse will be here with dinner soon. Think you might be able to wake up enough to eat something?"

She made no indication she'd even heard me, such was the depth of her sleep. Brenda had added an additional bag of antibiotics to her IV, and I watched, completely mesmerized, as the liquids dripped steadily down the tube and into her arm. Hopefully they would help her fever and keep the babies protected.

I could feel myself relaxing for the first time since I'd left the house early that morning, sated from loving Stephanie and amused from having teased her about her jeans not buttoning, How grateful I was tonight that she and our children were alive—safe in the hospital and receiving the best care possible. While everything around us was still swirling in uncertainty, I had to take comfort in that one blessing.

Listening to the swishing sounds announcing my children's heartbeats, my eyes closed, and I slipped into sleep.

_Thank you, God._


	22. Chapter 22

I do not own any of JE's characters.

I know, I know...I'm late in getting a chapter to all of you. I'm sorry. It's the first time in nine months of writing that it's taken me more than a week to publish a chapter. But the sad reality is real life is getting in the way of my writing time. Poop! I'm willing to hang in there, because there is so much more to do, not only in this story, but in the series as a whole. In return, I only ask you to be patient with me. LOL!

Julie, thanks a million for your fast, efficient and totally brilliant Beta work. More importantly, thanks to you AND Kim for encouraging me not to pressure myself so much to knock out these chapters.

And I certainly thank ALL of you for continuing to venture on this creative journey with me. You are all amazing people. Enjoy the rest of your week!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two

**Cheryl's POV**

_What the heck had I been thinking?_

Stepping into the surgical waiting room, I questioned my sanity for what seemed like the umpteenth time since I'd left the maternal fetal floor minutes ago. While my intention to help Joe by going down to check on his mother and Tony had been an honorable one, quite honestly I was nervous as hell.

I simply didn't handle mothers very well—my own included.

There were only two people in the room. The first had dark hair and good looks. She could only be Mrs. Morelli. The other was an older woman, dressed in black, with gray hair pulled tightly into a bun. Her eyes were closed and her arms folded across her chest, however, she didn't appear to be sleeping. Praying perhaps?

Mrs. Morelli was certainly praying. Her rosary beads slipped through her fingers like butter; such was the speed and smooth rote of her petitions. Despite being Irish Catholic, I'd never once seen my own mother touch her beaded rosary. It lay on her nightstand as a decoration and a constant reminder of what she _should _do, but never did. No, she was too busy being the wife of a three-star Air Force General to care much about religion. She had her own God—the god of self-absorption.

Shaking off the useless and tiresome cloak of bitterness that only threatened when I was fatigued or faced with the notion of what I'd always wanted in a mother, I mentally prepared myself once more to do my job. If nothing else, a Sullivan did the job—or anything else in life for that matter—to the highest peak of perfection.

I made my way over to the chair next to Mrs. Morelli. She hadn't noticed me walk into the room, but her reddened eyes widened now with barely constrained fear.

"My son—Anthony—how is he?" Her hand wrapped around my forearm like a vise.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I don't know. I'm not a nurse—"

The other woman opened her black eyes and frowned. "What are you then? You wear uniform of medical person."

_How much should I share with them? _Joe and I hadn't discussed the parameters of what he wanted communicated to his family.

"I'm a psychologist," I explained in a neutral and professional tone. "Cheryl Sullivan."

Holding out my hand, I touched Mrs. Morelli's shaking palm with my own. "I was part of the team that went into the swamp to rescue Stephanie. I've come down on Joe's behalf to see how you're holding up?"

"Joseph?" Mrs. Morelli breathed. "You've seen him—and Stephanie too? Is she all right? The babies—"

"I don't know a whole lot," I confessed to her, "but from everything I've heard, both Stephanie and the babies are holding their own for now. Her doctor is concerned about infection, particularly pneumonia, but I understand they've started her on antibiotics as a preventative measure."

"Is Joseph all right?" Mrs. Morelli squeezed my hand harder. "I thought for sure, he'd come down to check on us."

And there it was—the expectation and responsibility Joe said had been laid at his feet since childhood.

"Mrs. Morelli—"

"Angie."

I forced a smile, reminding myself not to judge, the number one rule of counseling. So far I'd only been hearing things from Joe's perspective. I needed to give this woman the benefit of the doubt.

"Angie," I conceded with a smile, "Joe is needed upstairs with Stephanie and the babies. From what I understand, Stephanie is in and out of consciousness. He wants to be there for her when she wakes up."

She bit her lip. "I know. He's a good boy—a good husband, and he'll be a good father too. Better than his own father, God rest his soul."

She and the older woman immediately crossed themselves. They were like some kind of characters out of a book, and I couldn't help but smile inwardly.

"It's just I haven't heard from a doctor since I've been here, and I haven't seen a nurse in quite awhile either. Is Anthony in or _out_ of surgery? For all I know, he could be dead—" Her voice trailed off, and her chin began to quiver.

"Angela, enough," the older woman spoke harshly, although her own eyes were moist. "Don't borrow trouble, no? We not know."

"I _know _we don't know, Bella," she snapped. "We don't know _anything_. We don't know about Anthony, or what is happening with Paul, or if Stephanie is okay, or if she'll lose my grandbabies." Her final words were somewhat choked from unshed tears.

"I'm sorry; I wish I had more answers for you," I apologized, feeling badly for Joe's mother. She looked lost.

I had to force myself to remember she was not my client—her son was. My boss Evan LeMaire _loved_ reminding me of the fact I couldn't save the entire world. But it was damned hard to turn your back on a person in emotional crisis.

"I know Paul was taken to the precinct," I offered carefully, wanting to ease her mind at least a tiny bit. "Now whether or not he's been transferred to the county courthouse yet, I _don't_ know."

"My daughters Catherine and Mary are over there now trying to find out what's happening with him. If only Joe—"

"Joe isn't available tonight," I spoke kindly but firmly. "He _needs_ to be with Stephanie."

Both women looked at me with raised eyebrows. Evidently people didn't speak to either of them in such a forthright manner.

_Great._

The woman named Bella, whom I assumed was Joe's grandmother, pointed a gnarly finger at me. "You watch tone with Morelli's. _No one _speaks bad to us." She used the same finger to point to her temple. "I have the eye, you know."

_The eye? The eye of what? _

Trying not to squirm, I looked her in the eye she seemed so proud of. "No disrespect intended, believe me. I'm simply informing you Joe will not be able to come down tonight—not unless there is an emergency, and we're _all _praying that's not the case."

Just then the surgeon walked into the room. His blue scrubs were covered in blood, and he was still wearing his surgical cap. Tugging it off impatiently, he sat down.

"Mrs. Morelli?"

"Yes, I'm Angela Morelli. My son—"

"Made it through the surgery," the physician hastily interrupted. "I'm Dr. Trombley, a nephrologist here on staff."

"Nephrologist?" Mrs. Morelli stumbled over the word.

"Maybe I should go," I offered, starting to rise.

Angie pulled me down hard beside her, her hand once more gripping my arm tightly.

_Or not._

"What's a nephrologist?" she asked nervously.

"I specialize in kidneys," he answered. "Together with Dr. Francisco, our trauma surgeon, we were able to stabilize your son's condition—at least for now. There was extensive damage to his liver, when the bullet passed through his body before lodging into his kidney. We think we've repaired the liver, although there's still a significant chance of infection. Unfortunately, we couldn't save the kidney."

Mrs. Morelli was staring at the blood on his uniform.

Dr. Trombley looked down and grimaced. "I'm sorry. I should've thought to change first. Your son did lose a significant amount of blood—both in surgery and on the way over in the helicopter. Whoever worked on him prior to the paramedics' arrival did a brilliant job of patching him temporarily. He quite literally saved his life."

I immediately thought of Tank, Ranger's hulking yet quiet giant of a friend. He truly had been wonderful out there in the horrific conditions of the swamp.

"We've given your son several transfusions of blood. He's still in recovery right now, but if all continues to go well in the next couple of hours, we'll be transporting him to the surgical ICU." He glanced up at the clock on the waiting room wall. "It's after ten o'clock already. You should go home, Mrs. Morelli. Your son won't awaken until tomorrow morning at the earliest. We'll call you if anything changes before then."

Angie shook her head. "I don't want to leave him." Her voice turned bitter. "His wife is nowhere to be found, and someone should—"

Clearing my throat, I offered, "Uh—actually his wife should be here fairly soon. My understanding is she's been staying in Atlantic City—"

"Atlantic City!" the two woman beside me gasped.

"What on _earth _is she doing there?" Angie continued angrily. "Please don't tell me the children are there too!"

"Yes, and Paul's wife and their children too—or so I heard."

"What in the world? I can't believe Angelina and Adrienne would go off on some sort of trip when their husbands are missing. You must be mistaken."

"No, I—"

"How you know so much about family business," Bella fairly growled at me.

The woman was out and out glaring at me, looking about ready to cast a spell or something else equally as awful on me. She was so scary I found myself surreptitiously looking for her broom.

"I—I was on the search team out in the swamp. Just now I was with Joe and Ranger Manoso upstairs and volunteered to come down and check on you."

"Ranger Manoso," Angie spoke the name as if she smelled something offensive. "That man's name keeps coming up far too often for my taste."

The doctor looked impatient to leave, and I could hardly blame him.

"As I said, we'll notify you of any changes in his condition, otherwise I'll be sure to have a consultation with you during my morning rounds." He stood. "I'm sorry you're having to go through this ma'am, but I'm hopeful your son is going to be okay.

"Thank you, doctor," she responded gratefully, and we all watched him stride confidently from the room.

"Dr. Trombley is right," I said following his departure. "There's nothing more you can do tonight. You might as well go home and sleep in your own bed."

Duel glowering stares met my suggestion.

"I will _not _leave my son lying in there alone," Mrs. Morrelli said decisively. "His own wife isn't even—"

"His wife will be here soon—I promise," I answered wearily. "You heard the doctor. They won't even be moving him from the recovery room for at least a couple of hours. That's time you could be resting. Joe is upstairs. They'll contact him _and _you if there's an emergency before morning." Appealing to Bella, I added, "Wouldn't you like to get a couple of decent hours of sleep in your own bed?"

"Huhn—I not know where you come from, but here family _first_," she huffed.

_I knew ALL about large families—thank you very much. _But I also knew _I_ was certainly ready to go home and sleep in my own bed. No stranger to long hours and hard work, the two hikes through the swamp in muddy conditions had worn me out, especially since I'd foolishly felt it necessary to prove myself somehow to Ranger Manoso.

_Ranger._

If Chief Reynolds were around, he'd say the man had an ego as big as all hell and half of Texas. My assessment tended to run more toward 'arrogant bastard', but that was probably my Irish temper talking. Regardless—whatever he was, it certainly wasn't my type.

_Not _that I'd given him enough consideration in the first place to try and determine if he was my type or not.

Because he _wasn't._

And yet I couldn't help but admire the man's skill in a crisis, nor could I fault him for what appeared to be his unfailing loyalty to Stephanie. In his own way, he appeared—at least on the surface—to be accepting the fact that neither she nor the babies were his to love anymore. Who knew what went on inside that steel-trap mind of his? Was he in pain? Or denial?

The man was a complete enigma—_not _that I cared.

Because I didn't.

My musings were interrupted when Mrs. Morelli put her hand on my arm.

"Thank you for coming down to check on us. I appreciate the news about Stephanie." I noticed she hadn't said anything about going home.

Her eyes were tired, and as I stared into them, the professional in me realized it was from a lifetime of pain and worry. The events of that afternoon and night had merely served as another crisis in a long line of heartache for the poor woman. Knowing the background information Joe had given me, it was particularly hard to remain detached and impartial.

"You're welcome," I smiled, ignoring Bella's scowl from the other chair. "I'll be praying for Tony."

"You seem like a good girl," she remarked, rubbing the skin of my arm gently before slipping her fingers down to clasp my hand. "Are you married?"

I couldn't prevent a small eye roll from escaping. _Mothers—they were all alike!_

"No, ma'am, I'm not."

"Hunh! Another _professional_," Bella snorted. "Didn't we see enough with Stephanie? Thank God, she come to her senses. Now look—she good wife. She have two more great grandbabies for me—"

I didn't know Stephanie that well, but I had a feeling she wouldn't have taken too kindly to Bella's assessment of her.

"Bella—enough," Mrs. Morelli said firmly. Letting out a small sigh, she capitulated, "Let me get you home. I'm sure you're tired."

_Success!_

"Hunh!" Joe's grandmother grunted again, her scowl toward me deepening.

_Did the woman know any other expression? _I had no idea what I'd done to get on her bad side, but clearly it was something.

Hopefully whomever Ranger had sent to pick up my car would be at the hospital soon. I was _more _than ready to go home—after I checked on Joe and Stephanie one more time.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Mr. Morelli."

I felt my body being shaken.

"Mr. Morelli!"

"Huh? What?" My eyes were instantly awake and alert.

Brenda, the night nurse, was standing beside the chair where I'd fallen asleep. Immediately turning toward Stephanie, I saw she was still resting somewhat peacefully.

"What time is it?" I asked, searching the darkened room for a clock.

"Almost ten thirty."

Okay.

I'd only nodded off for a few minutes. The way my body felt, I could have slept for days and not awakened.

"I brought up a tray for Mrs. Morelli to eat, but I can't seem to rouse her enough to sit up. I spoke with Dr. Hamilton. He said it's okay for her to sleep right on through until morning."

"The babies—"

"Will be fine. Right now her body is telling us it needs rest, so we all need to listen. Would you like her tray?"

I winced. "No thanks. I couldn't eat if I tried—not now."

She smiled compassionately. "I'll leave it anyway. You need to take care of yourself as well, Mr. Morelli. Try and at least have some of the soup. And you might as well get into the bed we made up for you. No sense trying to sleep in this awful chair."

Glancing at the short distance from the sofa to where Stephanie lay, I wasn't certain if I could stand being even that far away from her. _What if she needed me?_

Brenda read my mind. "The best thing you can do for her is get some rest."

"Maybe in a bit," I voiced reluctantly.

"By the way, I was able to check on Mary Lou Stankovic. The nurses up there said so far she's had no internal bleeding. If she goes through the night like that, she has a strong chance of having a full recovery."

_Thank God._

"That's good news," I agreed, my voice husky from fatigue and the little sleep I'd had. "Any further word on my brother?"

There was a soft knock on the door. Brenda frowned and went to see who was there. Recognizing Cheryl, she said, "I can't allow you in—"

"It's okay," I interjected quietly. "I'm sure you know she works periodically with Dr. Hamilton. Let her in for a moment—please?"

"I have word on Tony," Cheryl added.

Brenda stood aside. "No more than five minutes," she warned firmly. "I don't want to get into trouble."

She left the room, and I quickly asked, "Did you see my mother?"

"I did," Cheryl nodded. She looked as tired as I was, and once again I was filled with overwhelming gratitude at what both she and Manoso had done for Stephanie and me. "Tony made it through surgery."

"He did?" I hated the fact I was surprised, but truthfully I was. The way he'd looked before they'd taken him up in the helicopter—

"He's still in recovery. They hope to move him to surgical ICU in a few hours. I sent your mother and grandmother home for the night with some help from the surgeon."

"My grandmother was here too?"

"Yes. She's an—uh—interesting person."

I couldn't prevent a snort from escaping.

"My _grandmothe_r is a crackpot, but we all still love her."

"Your words—not mine," she grinned, and then her face froze in delight as she heard the beautiful swishing sound of my children's heartbeats coming through the fetal monitor.

"Oh Joe—"

"I know," I rasped.

"Has Stephanie?"

"She heard them earlier when she was awake for those few moments."

"Has she awakened since?"

"No, the nurse said she's probably out for the night."

Cheryl straightened from where she'd leaned her weary body against the wall. "You should get some rest then too."

"And you as well. Do you have a way to get home? Your car is still out at Lil's place, isn't it?"

The room was barely lit, but I swore her face flushed slightly. "Ranger is having one of his men bring it to me."

_He was? _The man was full of humanitarian surprises.

"Okay—well then—get some rest."

"You too. I'll stop by tomorrow to check on all of you."

"You don't have to do that," I hastened to say, feeling guilty about how much time she'd already devoted to me. "You must have other patients—"

"Tomorrow's Saturday. I don't have any clients."

"Then don't you want to take a day—?"

"Joe, listen—" She gave me that no bullshit look of hers. "You haven't even begun to scratch the surface of all the emotions in you. You still don't know one hundred percent that Stephanie and the babies are going to be okay; your brother's in critical condition; you have no idea what's happening with Paul and you haven't even _seen _your mother since your flashback this afternoon. Need I go on?"

"No." My tone was a little glum. She was right. There _was _a hell of a lot left to sort through."

Seeing my reaction, she softened her tone. "I'm here for as long as you and Stephanie need me."

"Thanks," I acknowledged quietly.

After she left, I turned and looked at the bed Brenda had made up for me. It didn't look appealing at all, but at least I'd be horizontal. As tired as I was, it didn't matter where I slept.

"Joe?" Stephanie's voice sounded disoriented and frightened. Just like earlier her eyes remained closed while she spoke.

Moving to her side, I brushed back the hair from her forehead. "I'm right here, Cupcake."

"Hurt everywhere."

No doubt she did the way that bastard had dragged her through the goddamned swamp. Bitter anger surged through my system once more at the thought of Bruce Jackson still being allowed to breathe. Forcing myself to concentrate on Stephanie, I leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"I know you do, baby. I'm sorry. Let me call the nurse—"

"Hold me." Her tone was that of a petulant child.

_Oh how I wished I could._

"I can't, Steph. There isn't room with all the wires—"

"Don't care!"

I wasn't even certain if she was coherent or not. For all I knew she was crying out in her sleep.

Sighing, I decided not to fight the inevitable. There was no way in hell I could deny her anything, especially not right then. Somehow I managed to carefully maneuver her over enough to slip in beneath the wires, so that I lay sideways beside her. She was completely enveloped in my arms, her head pressed into my neck.

"So tired. Can't open my eyes," she apologized, already drifting off again.

"It's okay," I soothed, my mouth against her temple. "Just sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."

Within seconds she was out again. My hand slid carefully down to rest upon her abdomen, directly over our amazing babies. They were already superheroes in my eyes.

As was my wife.

Breathing in her scent, I once again thanked God for saving her from Bulldog before succumbing to sleep myself. Thinking about what all Cheryl had reminded me of that was yet to be resolved; I felt a moment of anxiety before deciding to surrender it all for the night.

Instead I fell asleep a grateful man.

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

"He said what?"

I was so tired; I thought surely I'd misheard the man before me named Woody, one of Ranger's employee who'd brought my car to me. He was standing next to his equally beefy coworker named Zero. Together they were twin mountains of muscle.

"Ranger said I'm to follow you home to ensure your safety, ma'am," he nodded seriously.

Trying to disregard the fact he'd called me Ma'am, I answered calmly, "Thank you, but that isn't necessary. "Tell Mr. Manoso I appreciate the gesture, however I'm fine. Thanks again for bringing me my car."

Woody exchanged looks with Zero and then stood staring at me, his mouth hanging slightly open.

"You want _me _to tell _Ranger _no?"

"That's right."

He looked as though I'd told him to build a rocket ship to take me to the moon.

"But—I—you—we—"

"_No one _says 'no' to Ranger, ma'am," Zero supplied firmly.

I'm sure they didn't.

Yep, he was _definitely_ in the 'arrogant bastard' category.

"Well, there's a first for everything, guys. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going home."

Before either could say another word, I brushed past them to where my car was parked illegally at the curb outside the main entrance to the hospital. By the time I reached my apartment thirty minutes later, I was completely whipped. Gathering my purse and briefcase, which I'd left in the car during our adventure in the woods, I made my way up the slightly darkened walkway.

An unmarked, white envelope was taped to my door.

Somehow I managed to get it down, while holding on to my belongings and fumbling with my key in the lock. Once inside I dropped everything in the entryway, turned on some lights and opened the envelope, pulling out a single white sheet of paper. Written in red liquid—ketchup perhaps—it read:

_Dropped by to say, "Hello Doc"._

_You weren't here to play._

_Don't you worry though._

_I'll be back another day._

_What the heck? _I couldn't imagine who would have left such a vague message for me. Sniffing the paper, I determined the liquid was indeed ketchup, which seemed even stranger. Was this some kind of practical joke? Having only been in Trenton for six months, I didn't know very many people other than coworkers and clients—none of whom I could imagine doing something as bizarre as this.

I'd have to ask Evan about it on Monday at work, but right then I was too pooped to give it another thought. Not even bothering to get cleaned up, I merely stripped off the hospital scrubs, climbed into bed and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"Bobby and I are almost to Atlantic City," Lester announced nervously in my ear. "About another fifteen miles. Hopefully we'll have the wives back in Trenton by Midnight. Not sure what they're planning on doing with all them kids once we get there. We had to bring two vehicles to haul all of them." I heard him swallow hard. "You don't think they're going to want us to babysit or anything like that, do you?"

"Not your worry," I assured him.

"Okay," he breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll talk with you tomorrow then."

"Yeah. Good work today, cousin. Later."

I hung up just as the elevator doors opened onto seven. To my surprise, Tank was sitting on the couch in the middle of my living area, looking as filthy as I was, drinking a beer.

Tossing my keys onto the ledge in the entryway, I wasted no time on pleasantries. "What're you doing here?"

"Just wanted to check in with you before I headed home," he replied lazily.

My eyes darted rather nervously around my penthouse. "Where's Lula?"

"I dropped her off before I came," he explained, noting my expression and rolling his eyes. "How's Stephanie?"

"I didn't get to see her—family only. But Morelli said she's holding her own for now. The doctor's concerned about pneumonia. They have her on preventative drugs to hopefully ward off any chance of it."

"What about Morelli's brother?"

"I don't know other than he made it to the hospital alive thanks to you."

I dropped wearily into the chair across from Tank, who was studying me with the gaze only a best friend could use.

"Are you okay with not having been able to see Stephanie?"

_No. _

"I didn't have much of a say in the matter."

"That's not what I asked."

"I'm fine," I responded firmly. "She's being taken care of, and that's the important thing, although I don't think it would hurt to have another specialist's opinion." Against my will, I frowned. "Morelli and the shrink seem to think she's in capable hands already."

Tank's eyes fairly gleamed like a cat ready to pounce on a piece of cheese. "Dr. Sullivan, huh? Wasn't her name the one I found on that business card you had sitting out here last Sunday night?"

_Shit. _There was going to be no stopping the man once he got going, so I might as well be forthright now and try to keep him from building up something that simply wasn't true.

"Yes. She's the psychologist that was there at the paternity test results a week ago today."

"Mmmm hmmm," he hummed, sounding more and more like his woman everyday. "She shore is a looker."

I felt my gut clench reflexively. "And you were able to tell that in the dark how?"

"Tall, curly-haired, with them golden eyes," he went on, completely ignoring me. "Reminded me a bit of Steph—"

"Tank." I spoke the word simply, but there was no doubt as to the sentiment behind it.

Rather than looking properly chastised, I'll be damned if he didn't give a loud guffaw and slap the cushion on the couch next to him.

"Are you hungry?" I asked with irritation. "I could have Ella—"

He gave another, shorter laugh, but thankfully went with the change of subject. "Naw. I stink so bad right now I couldn't even think about eating. That was a hell of a mess out there."

"Yeah, it was," I agreed tiredly, leaning my head back against the top of the chair. "All the way over from the hospital I kept playing through my mind what we could've done differently."

"Nothing," Tank stressed in a hard voice. "I started going down that road earlier too. What could I have done differently for Tony? How could I have gotten a shot off at Bulldog sooner? How could we have prevented the whole mess from happening in the first place?"

"Shit, if it weren't for you, Morelli's brother would've been dead before he even got to the hospital, and we both know it."

Tank ran a hand around his neck. "Maybe. I haven't done anything like that in _years_. One thing is for certain—I don't miss the Army."

"How's Lula holding up? Any residual guilt for having shot Jackson?"

A grin slowly spread across his ebony face. "She's shaken but solid. She did the job today, Ranger. I'm fucking proud of her."

He'd get no disagreement from me. "She did. She's come a long way this week, although she still has a lot to learn. Don't think I don't know however that the growth process started with all the training you did with her during that week you ran the bonds office."

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Think you'll bring her in to work for Rangeman?"

I paused, not ready to reveal my thought process completely to anyone yet. "I don't know. This whole thing started as a quid pro quo with stupid ass Vinnie. I don't want to be a sheep stealer."

"What _are _your plans?" he asked quizzically, his eyes narrowing with interest.

Choosing to sidestep the depth of his question, I answered it on the surface. "Tomorrow I need to pick up the receipt for Morelli—"

"Which you're giving to Lula, right?"

My eyebrow quirked upward in response. "You questioning me, Tank?"

"Clarifying," he shot back determinedly, his gaze now steely.

"How about showing a little trust instead."

He opened his mouth to speak again, and I waved him off.

"I want to stop by to see Stephanie at some point, and then I have my own business to take care of. I plan to leave first thing Monday morning for Miami."

"You're still planning on going down there?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I told you I had to go earlier in the week. Nothing's changed."

"It seems to me a lot has changed."

I shook my head. "Stephanie is no longer mine to take care of nor to love—at least not in the way I have in the past. My going away will do us both some good."

Tank frowned. "I thought you two were trying to salvage a friendship."

"And I'm not saying we won't. I just think we both need a little space."

He gave me a hard stare. "You really okay with that?"

Giving the question serious consideration, I was surprised to realize I was—for perhaps the first time since Stephanie had chosen Morelli almost two months ago.

"I am."

Tank continued to study my face, and then seemingly satisfied I was telling the truth, nodded. "Fine. Shall I schedule a team meeting for tomorrow?"

"Make it tomorrow night. Dinner. Six o'clock. I'll have Ella prepare a meal."

"Sounds good." Heaving himself up off the couch, he sniffed the air. "Gawd, we both smell worse than skunks. I'm going home to my woman and a shower." Waggling his eyebrows, he added, "Maybe even both at the same time."

Nausea rolled through me at the thought of Lula and Tank naked in the shower together. _Would they even both fit? _

"_Why _do you insist on doing this kind of shit to me," I groused, shaking my head to clear it. "I don't need images like that giving me nightmares."

He let out another barrel roll of a laugh and then his tone turned crafty. "It'd be just as easy to turn them images into ones of a honey-haired psychologist. Mm. Mm. Mm—I'm telling you that woman is _fine—"_

"Goodnight, Tank," I said dryly, using every ounce of self-control that remained in my tired body not to show any reaction to his baiting.

"Night, Carlos," he smirked, heading for the door.

Thirty minutes later I lay in bed with my eyes wide-open, staring up at the ceiling. Thoughts of Stephanie and her well being filled my head. _God, let her and the babies be all right._ At the same time, my brain replayed the scene out in the swamp over and over again. Like Tank, I was questioning every detail of what we had done right and wrong.

And unfortunately every scene somehow included Cheryl Sullivan's image in it, which only served to piss me off. I definitely needed to get to Miami soon where I could concentrate on business and leave all of this emotional crap behind me. Maybe I'd find time to spend with Julie as well, although there were already too many people cluttering up my head right then—demanding too much change from me. It was getting so I could hardly hear myself think any longer.

For the first time in ages, I found myself longing to leave town for a while. It was definitely time to do some serious thinking and to somehow find the real Carlos Manoso again.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

_I was cold and running._

_The animal was behind me, nipping at my bare feet as I ran through the jungle-like landscape. Its teeth were gnashing behind me, while letting out one heart-stopping growl after another. _

_Why couldn't I get warm?_

_And where was I? Why couldn't I see my attacker? Where was everyone I knew and loved?_

_Where was Joe?_

_Closer and closer the beast came, reaching out with his claw-like paws to rip at my tender skin._

"_Mama!" a sweet little voice cried out._

"_Mama, help us!" another followed equally as precious._

_My babies._

_Oh God, where were they? I had to help them!_

"_I'm coming!" I answered frantically. "I'm coming, my darlings. Mommy's here." Tossing a vicious glare over my shoulder, I shrieked at my pursuer, "Don't you dare hurt my babies, you bastard!"_

_What I saw made vomit rise in my throat. A monstrous bulldog was almost upon me, his bulbous head bobbling on thick shoulders and red eyes shooting hot rays of evil onto my face. In each hand, he held one of my beautiful babies. He looked prepared to hurl them into the abyss._

"_No!" I whispered, completely horrified._

_How could I stop him? Where was everyone to help me? Where was Joe?_

"_Joe!" I screamed._

"Jooooeeee!"

Shooting upward and out of my nightmare, I felt real bile in my throat. _Oh God._

A warm arm wrapped itself around my shoulders. "It's okay, Steph. I'm here."

_Joe._

Gagging, I proceeded to dry heave out the last of whatever was in my stomach. Opening my eyes, I realized I wasn't in the jungle—or even in the swamp. I was in a hospital room and Joe was holding a kidney dish beneath my mouth.

Once I was finished, he set the dish aside and pushed the call button for the nurse before easing me back against the pillows once more.

Looking up at him groggily, I must've appeared as confused as I felt, for he immediately said soothingly, "You're safe, Cupcake. You're at Helene Fuld. You _and_ the babies are safe."

"Bull—" I tried to speak, but my throat was completely parched.

Sensing the problem, he gave me a sip of water from the paper cup on the nightstand.

"Bulldog's been arrested," he said quietly. "He's not going to harm anyone ever again."

The horror of yesterday washed over me painfully—both physically and emotionally—and without warning, I began to cry.

"He—he wouldn't listen to me. I tr—tr—tried to get away. Tried to pro—pro—protect the babies. Fell in quick—quicksand—" My whole body was shaking so I could barely form the words.

Joe's body tensed against me. "_You what?" _he whispered in a tortured voice.

"He p-p-pulled me out of my boots and then dragged m-m-me through the brush."

"Christ Almighty," his lips murmured against my hair. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry—"

Huge, wracking sobs overtook me, and Joe tried helplessly to ease the outpouring of my fears.

"Stephanie—honey stop—I'm afraid you'll make yourself sick again—"

The door to the room opened and in walked the nurse.

"Good morning, I'm Suzanne—the day nurse. It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling, Mrs. Morelli?"

_How was I feeling? Was she kidding?_

"She just threw up," Joe answered, sounding completely flustered. He pointed at the dish on the nightstand.

"No problem," she said perkily. "Let me just take care of this, and I'll be right back to check on you."

She left the room, and I looked up at Joe, my crying jaunt finally abating thanks to her interruption. "You know I hate perky people. Get rid of her."

To my surprise, Joe's eyes had a sheen to them.

"What?" I grumbled, lying back in exhaustion.

"You have no idea how good it is to hear you complain," he said seriously. "You scared me half to death last night, Cupcake."

Reaching out, I cupped his cheek. "I was terrified too. I barely remember anything."

"We'll talk later," he promised, taking my hand and kissing the palm of it lovingly. "First, let's see what the nurse says."

"What time is it anyway?" I asked, looking about the mostly darkened room.

Joe found the clock. "About five thirty."

"In the _morning_?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

"Are you kidding? I've never been so glad to have someone wake me up in my entire life."

Suzanne came back into the room followed by Dr. Hamilton.

"You're still here?" Joe asked the doctor in surprise.

"It just so happened that I'm on twenty-four call this weekend," he responded, flipping on the overhead light. Joe and I both squinted against the unexpected and harsh glare. "It's good to see you awake, Stephanie."

"I feel awful."

He grunted. "I'm sure you do. Suzanne, get a temperature reading for me, please."

The next several minutes were spent being poked and prodded. As the two medical professionals worked in tandem, I became aware of the sounds coming from the fetal monitor. Vaguely I remembered hearing them when I was in and out of it the night before, but now was the first time I was consciously alert to them.

Turning my head slowly, I met Joe's gaze, and he squeezed my hand. He knew exactly what I was thinking and feeling. Omigod—those were _our_ children! Once again my eyes filled, but this time with gratefulness. _They were alive._

"You still have a temperature, but it has come down significantly," Dr. Hamilton noted with a pleased tone. "That's why you're more coherent this morning. So far your lungs sound clear as well, and from all indications, the babies both seem to be okay."

He leaned back and said matter-of-factly. "You're by no means out of the woods yet, but I'm cautiously optimistic. I'd like to get some food into you right away if you think you're up to it."

Nothing sounded good to my abused stomach right then, but I nodded anyway. "I'll try."

Joe rewarded me with another hand squeeze. "Should we be concerned that she just got sick again?"

"No, actually, I see that as a good sign. It means the body is responding normally to the pregnancy. Of course we don't want an excess of it, so I'll adjust the Zofran to keep the nausea down." Continuing to observe me closely, he added, "You're going to be in and out of it again today, I'd imagine. Your body has much to fight, Stephanie. Conserve your energy as much as possible."

"When can I go home?" I asked, thinking longingly of my own bed.

He ran a hand over his chin. "It's going to be a wait and see game, but I would imagine at least a week."

"A week!" I gasped, looking frantically at Joe, who looked equally as surprised.

"Is there something you're not telling us?" he asked, nailing Dr. Hamilton with his most intimidating cop's stare.

"No, but I just finished telling you Stephanie's not out of the woods yet. What she went through out there in that swamp is incredibly serious. If it had to happen, I'm thankful it was so early on in her pregnancy. The embryos are still incredibly small and well protected in her uterus. However, the risk of infection is higher than I'd like, and for that reason alone, we're going to be extremely proactive."

"We'll do whatever you say," Joe vowed, sending me a look that said I shouldn't even bother trying to argue with the doctor. Not that I would have—probably—okay, maybe.

"I'm limiting visitors to family only again today, and I'd like to keep that to a minimum as well."

Joe shuffled his feet beside the bed. "I'd like to make two exceptions."

Dr. Hamilton scowled.

"Ranger Manoso and Cheryl Sullivan."

The doctor failed to hold back his surprise. "I can see Cheryl perhaps, but you want _Mr. Manoso_ to be allowed in?"

I looked at Joe in shock as well.

"It's all right," he answered firmly. "At least for a few minutes. He needs to see her, and I'm okay with it."

_He was? _Exactly what the hell had happened while I was in that swamp? My husband and former lover were now best friends? This change of events was beyond strange, but I was in no shape to analyze it too closely.

Dr. Hamilton clearly didn't have the same problem. "I'll allow it," he said shortly, "but only for a few minutes—and _only _if you guarantee me there will be no arguing in front of Stephanie."

"You have my word," Joe promised.

_Was it even possible for him and Ranger not to argue? _I had my doubts.

"That goes for family too," Dr. Hamilton continued. "Not only am I concerned about infection as a result of the swamp, but also Stephanie's immune system is way down right now too. Any illness at this stage could have far lasting implications. I won't resort to masks and gowns yet, not unless I feel it becomes necessary."

"Understood," Joe agreed.

The physician picked up his chart. "Suzanne, order another round of antibiotic drip as soon as this one is completely drained as well as another round of Zofran. We don't need any more vomiting if it can be helped. Also, here's a note for some pain reliever she can take, along with her prenatal vitamins and iron supplement. Make certain her breakfast contains plenty of protein and iron."

"Yes, doctor," Suzanne chirped, practically saluting him in her eagerness to obey.

Dr. Hamilton must have noted my death glare at her abnormally cheerful tone for he tried to hide a smile and said, "Why don't you and I continue our discussion out in the hall."

He patted the bed beside me. "I'll have Suzanne bring in something for you to use to rinse our your mouth before you eat." His face grew serious. "You do your part and rest, Stephanie, and I promise to do all I can to get you and your babies home safely as soon as possible."

I merely nodded, already getting too tired to do much more talking.

As soon as they left the room, I turned toward Joe, who was still holding my hand, looking worried.

"I'll be good; I promise," I said sleepily, trying to read his expression.

Brushing a stray lock of hair off of my cheek, he answered seriously. "I never had a doubt."

"I'm tired."

"I know. Sleep until breakfast comes."

My eyes closed briefly and then flew open again. "Tony!"

Joe winced. "He's in the surgical ICU. He made it through surgery last night, but I haven't heard anything since then."

"You should go see him," I murmured, again noting the anxiety on his face.

"I'm not leaving you," he vowed, shaking his head.

"No, I want you to go," I said, beginning to succumb to the fatigue. "We'll both feel better once we have an update, and you see him for yourself. Go see Mare too."

A shadow crossed his face. "Steph, you don't understand. A lot happened yesterday that you don't know about. I—"

I was too tired to let him continue. Reaching up to caress his cheek, I asked, "Please?"

He nodded reluctantly. "All right—for you."

"See you in a bit," I slurred, and slipped back into darkness.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

I felt like an idiot roaming through the hallways of the hospital in surgical scrubs. Cops didn't do booties and v-neck smocks. Considering everything I'd been wearing the day before had been destroyed by the swamp, including my boots, I should be thankful for having something clean to wear. Still, I would be calling on Mooch as soon as I had a moment to breath to get him to bring me some things for both Stephanie and me from the house.

My mind was still swirling from all that had been said during the past few minutes—starting with Stephanie's announcement that she'd fallen in quicksand and had been literally dragged through the swamp. While part of me wanted to walk right out of that hospital, drive down to the county jail and beat the living shit out of Bruce Jackson over what he'd done to my family, the saner part of me knew my presence was needed at the hospital more right then.

I hadn't even bothered to check my cell phone for messages. _Why bother?_ I already knew I'd have to make an appearance soon at the precinct. As lead on the murders of Louie Nagel, Myra Flowers _and _Jason Meachum and friends, I wasn't going to be able to stay away much longer. There was too much riding on my shoulders, including both Paul's and Tony's futures.

And now I was about to face _one_ of those brothers—the one who'd sacrificed so much for me. I hadn't even had time to process what all I'd remembered in my flashback the day before. No sooner had I experienced it when I'd been flung into Stephanie's nightmare in the swamp. I couldn't help but wonder how long she'd be forced to relive that nightmare in the days and weeks to come. The mere thought made me sick to my stomach.

Truthfully, going in to see Tony made me sick to my stomach too.

Shit, I was fast becoming a fucking mess, which pissed me off. Like Manoso, I prided myself on having tremendous self-control. Yes, I was prone to Italian flare-ups once in awhile, but pretty much only with my family—or Stephanie. _No one_ could get under my skin like my wife, which was probably one of the reasons I loved her so much.

After navigating several hallways and floors, I finally found the surgical ICU. Approaching the nurses' station, I put on my best smile, which wasn't worth much at the moment, and said to the nurse on duty, "Excuse me—I'm Detective Joe Morelli, TPD. My brother Anthony was brought in here last night with a gun shot wound."

The elderly nurse wasted no time in giving me the once over, noting my attire.

Glancing down at the surgical scrubs, I gave her a rather sheepish grin. "I know I don't look like a cop right now, but I am. My wife was brought in at the same time as my brother—"

"Yes, I'm aware of all that," the crusty older woman retorted. Evidently, _she_ was immune to the Morelli charm—such as it was right then.

"She's up on the maternal fetal unit," I continued helpfully. "I only have a minute before I need to get back to her, and I wanted to check on my brother. May I see him?"

"For a moment," she agreed brusquely. "Mr. Morelli's wife is in with him now, but I'll show you to his room."

Exhaling, I gave a grim nod. Dealing with Angelina was the last thing I needed to add to my own load.

The nurse led me down a short corridor to a glass enclosed room. Inside I could see Angelina sitting listlessly in a chair next to the bed, looking completely overwhelmed—an emotion I could well identify with of late.

"Only a few moments," the nurse reiterated.

I merely nodded and stepped soundlessly inside the room, completely transfixed by the sight of my brother so completely incapacitated. Unlike Stephanie, who merely had looked as though she were sleeping, honest to God, Tony appeared dead already. He had more tubes and wires sticking out of him than could probably be found in an old-fashioned television set. Worse yet, he was on a ventilator. The whooshing sound it made, along with the sound of his heart monitor, were the only noises in the otherwise deathly quiet room.

"How'd you find us?" Angelina asked, drawing my attention from the gray pallor of Tony's face.

"Stephanie figure it out from a scribbled note on your nightstand a couple of days ago."

"I should've known she wouldn't have left well enough alone."

My aforementioned Italian temper immediately flared. "She—"

"I'm not upset," Angelina cut me off quietly. "I'm just saying she's good at what she does." She paused momentarily, and then added, "How is she? And the babies? Are they okay? The man who brought us back last night said she was harmed by the same man that shot Tony."

"She's stable for now," I responded in the same low tone. "The babies too. This is the first chance I've had to come down to check on him." Nodding at Tony, I added, "What do you know?"

"That I'm a damned fool for being here," she retorted bitterly, wiping viciously at the tears slipping from her eyes. "I should've taken the kids and kept on going. I've been a fool for a long time when it comes to Anthony Morelli—too long."

"Why _did_ you come?"

"I could give you a hundred reasons. He's the father of my children; it's my responsibility—you know the responses as well as I do." Looking up at me with her beautiful, exotic eyes, she shook her head. "But you also know as well as I do that I'm here because I'm in love with this cheating bastard. Regardless of how stupid that makes me, I don't know how to stop." Her breathing became ragged. "So help me God, Joe, I still love him, and I don't want him to die."

She began to openly weep then, and there was nothing I could do but offer her my support. Kneeling down next to the chair, I pulled my sister-in-law into my embrace and held her.

"I understand."

And I did. Even during my darkest, most treacherous moments with Stephanie—when I'd been forced to face the fact she was sleeping with both Manoso and me at the same time—I couldn't have stopped loving her if my life depended on it. Despite my anger over her betrayal, I'd have been devastated if something had happened to her.

"Why aren't the kids and I enough for him, Joe?" she asked the question I'd wondered myself a million times when faced with Stephanie's unfaithfulness.

"You are," I offered confidently.

Now that Stephanie and I had finally worked our way through our own situation, I could clearly see I _had _been enough for her too. Misunderstandings, miscommunication and plain old fear had a way of making life cloudy at times and poor decisions were made as a result—at least that had been true for Stephanie and me.

Was the same true for Tony?

Was my brother truly like my father, or had he merely become a victim of his own circumstances? While part of me was willing to accept he'd been given a horrible lot in life as the oldest of our family, another part of me was still angry he'd allowed his past to define his entire life. If he'd only confided in me the truth, I'd have given anything to help him through his struggles.

"I'm surprised your mother, sisters and Grandma Bella aren't camped out here," Angelina said, trying ineffectively to cover the resentment in her tone.

"Ma and Grandma Bella were here earlier from what I hear. Cathy and Mary _were_ down at the precinct trying to help Paul."

"It's for the best they're not here right now. I'm sure your mother wouldn't be too happy to see me, except for knowing I was living up to my wifely duty."

There was no point in arguing with her, because she was right. My mother and Angelina had never gotten along. Now I had to wonder if it was because Ma saw so much of herself in Angelina.

Pulling back, I changed the subject, asking the same question from moments ago and hoping for a more concrete answer this time. "What do you know?"

"Not much," Angelina admitted, swiping at her eyes again. "He hasn't regained consciousness yet. The doctor was in a while ago. He said the fact he's made it this long is a good sign, but they have no idea what the long-term effects will be. He said his liver already showed serious signs of damage from too much alcohol—not to mention the fact he's down to one kidney."

"But you can get by with just one kidney, right?"

"Yes, but, according to the doctor, only if the rest of your body is healthy to support it." She took a deep breath. "I'm going to have to leave for a while. We dropped all of the kids off at my parent's house on the way over last night. The one guy, Lester, then took Adrienne down to the jail. I need to talk to the kids—" Her voice choked again.

"I'll go down to the precinct at some point soon to check on Paul."

She merely nodded, watching Tony's chest as it was forced to rise and fall by the ventilator. The silence lengthened between us.

"They both love you, Joe," Angelina observed.

My own throat began to close.

"I know," I said hoarsely. "They've both made huge sacrifices for me—Tony especially."

Her eyes met mine. Tilting her head slightly, she acknowledged my statement vaguely. "Yes, they have."

Deciding Angelina was the best one with whom to test the waters of my newfound memories, I said, "I know what Tony did, Angie."

Her face never changed expression, but her eyes became more aware. The average person wouldn't have noticed the change, but any good cop would have. And despite everything, I was still a damned good cop.

"What's that?" she asked coolly.

"I know our father didn't die of a heart attack. When I was eight years old he tried to kill me, and Tony stabbed him with the same knife I'd used to stab my father. He saved my life."

There was no hiding the look of surprise—and then fear that came over her face. At first I thought it was in response to my statement—that is until I heard my mother's angry voice project in a seething voice from behind me.

"_Who. Told. You. That."_


	23. Chapter 23

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Everyone having a good week? Mine has been a completely blur. Whew!

My fabulous Beta reader, Julie, was INSTRUMENTAL in getting this chapter in gear. Her skills are so good, I feel blessed to be able to tap into them. Thank you, my friend.

And thank you all for taking the time to read and review. I never get tired of hearing what is _or _isn't working for you.

I hope you all have a terrific weekend!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three

**Joe's POV**

"Joseph, I _asked_ you a question."

My mother's face was stark white, her lips compressed in a tight line. Behind her, Cathy, Mary and Grandma Bella looked shocked—almost fearful. Cathy quickly put her arm around Ma's shoulders. I wasn't certain if it was to show support or to hold her back.

A whole slew of emotions fought for supremacy inside me—respect, guilt, nerves and anger—along with a bizarre sense of relief that the truth was finally out in the open.

"You heard me," I answered neutrally, refusing to be intimidated by her.

I think I was the only person in the world _not_ intimidated by my mother.

"Who told you?" she demanded again, this time a little more frantically. Spying Angelina behind me, she broke free from Cathy's embrace and swept me aside. "Was it _you_? How do you even—?"

Still seated in the chair next to Tony, Angelina looked like a deer in a car's headlights. Her mouth fell open.

"I—I didn't say anything to anyone. And Tony told—"

"Anthony!" One word and Ma's voice was ready to tear her daughter-in-law to shreds. "How _dare_ you mention my son's name, you traitorous coward? Where the hell have you been—?"

"Angela!" Bella chastised in a disapproving whisper. "There's no need for such language."

Mary grabbed her arm. "Ma, now is _not _the time—"

Too late—my mother was out of control.

"How could you leave town like that—taking my precious grandchildren away without a word to any of us. How could you leave when your own husband was missing? You senseless little—"

"Ma, please," Cathy begged, tossing me a frustrated glare that suggested I handle the situation.

I returned her glare with one of my own. After having managed Angelina's breakdown, dealing with more female hysteria was not on my 'to-do' list for the day—not to mention the fact we were standing in the middle of the surgical ICU at my brother's potential deathbed.

_Shit. _

The only woman I wanted to see hysterical right then was Stephanie, and only because finding enough energy to demonstrate that much emotion would be further proof she was getting better.

Angelina stood slowly, her whole body shaking with rage.

"Are _you_ of all people questioning me for leaving my cheating, alcoholic husband? The one who willingly put his wife and children in harm's way in order to protect his brothers? Who deliberately chose loyalty to his past versus the vows he spoke to his wife?"

She went nose-to-nose with Ma. "Are you _questioning_ my decision—or _jealous_ of it?"

Ma and Bella both gasped at her audacity. Mary and Cathy groaned, while I merely stood there shaking my head, wishing I were anywhere but in that room.

Her eyes nothing but two thin slits in her face, the Angela Morelli no one in the Burg dared to mess with prepared to attack.

_Sigh. _

She left me no choice. Stepping forward, I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her clear off of the ground.

Ma—enough!" I spoke sharply.

"I'll say it's enough!"

We all turned to find the crotchety head nurse standing beside a man in scrubs, presumably one of Tony's doctors.

"This is obscene," the doctor reprimanded. "Arguing at the bedside of a man who's fighting for his life."

"It's shameful!" the nurse agreed, frowning at the impudence of our actions. "Mr. Morelli, I allowed you in here with the understanding you'd be respectful." Addressing the rest of the group, she added, "And where did all of you come from? I certainly didn't authorize this many people to be in here at once!"

Bella had a cane with her, and she thumped it once on the ground. "What did you expect us to do? You weren't at your post."

The nurse gestured with an IV bag in her hand. "I was getting my patient some more medicine—_not _that I answer to you."

Ma looked mortified she'd been caught losing her self-composure. Wriggling out of my hold, she spoke stiffly "Dr. Trombley, I apologize—"

"You all need to leave the room—right now," the surgeon cut her off, showing no understanding.

I couldn't blame him. Here Tony's life hung in the balance, and we were acting like children quarrelling on a playground.

"But—"

"I'll allow _one _of you at a time to stay with Anthony," Dr. Trombley relented in a no-nonsense manner. "The rest of you need to stay down the hallway in the waiting area. And if you can't be civil to one another there, I'll ask you to leave the hospital."

I held out my hand, hoping to make peace. "Doctor—I'm Joe Morelli, Tony's brother—"

"I know who you are, detective, and I know your wife is upstairs," he acknowledged, accepting my handshake. "I've heard she's stable. That's good news. I wish I could say the same for your brother here. He's in critical condition. And while I'm thankful he made it through the night, he isn't out of the woods by a long shot. Having a family disagreement around him is about the last thing his body needs right now."

"I agree. Our family will do whatever is best for Tony. You have my word," I promised.

"Right now I want _all _of you to leave," Dr. Trombley continued. "I'd like to examine my patient without any distraction. I'll send Margaret down to allow one of you access again in a few minutes."

Nodding on behalf of the group, I said, "Thank you for all you did to save him, doctor."

Dr. Trombley grimaced. "Don't thank me yet. We still need a miracle."

Without commenting, our group made its way down the hallway to the small, private waiting area.

Angelina turned and spoke to me, completely ignoring my mother.

"I'm going to call my mom and check on the kids. It's a little too crowded in here for my taste."

Ma wasted no time in jumping back onto her case. "Why on earth did you and Adrienne go to Atlantic City in the midst of all this turmoil surrounding our family?"

"For Christ's sake, Ma—would you leave her alone already?" I snapped, fatigue and frustration lacing my voice. "You don't know the half of what Angelina and Adrienne have been dealing with the past several months, including fear for their own physical safety as well as that of your grandchildren."

"Well, I'd know if someone would tell me what's going on once in a while, wouldn't I?" she challenged heatedly.

How goddamned well I knew the feeling of being left in the dark! The temptation to blast her with that very sentiment burned like fire in my stomach. I had to physically bite my tongue to the point of drawing blood not to give in to the lure. Now wasn't the time for the kind of conversation I needed to have with my family, particularly my mother.

Mary, who'd always been the most intuitive of my siblings, saw my discomfort and took pity on me.

"Ma, be quiet!" she said forcefully. "Seriously—stop it. Do you _really _want to talk about family business like this in the middle of a public place?"

"I need to understand what's happened," she insisted doggedly. Looking up at me, she implored, "Please, Joseph—who told you—?"

"I'll be back later," Angelina announced in a clipped tone, beating a hasty retreat before anyone could say another word.

My jaw clenched. "I'm going back upstairs to Stephanie."

Ma grabbed my arm. "No—wait. We _need_ to talk."

Part of me felt horrible about the way I was treating my own mother, a woman I'd held in the highest of regard for my entire life. It was painful to feel such animosity toward her, but I couldn't deny it. Emotions held dormant for years continued to pump through my system at rocket speed, leaving me confused and angry.

"Joseph—"

Deliberately disregarding her, I turned to Cathy. "What do you know about Paul?"

Cathy shrugged. "He's still in a holding cell at the precinct. The detective who talked to us—Rodriguez—said Chief Rogers wanted to interrogate him last night, but I guess the rest of your team convinced him to wait until you had a chance to get down there and help."

_Shit. _The pressure was on. I needed to make an appearance soon. But there was no way I could leave Stephanie yet.

"What about Tony's attorney?" I asked brusquely. "Did anyone get a hold of him? Is he willing to take on Paul's case as well?"

"I got a hold of Mr. Samuelson around Midnight last night," Mary offered, tucking a strand of her shoulder length dark hair behind her ear. Like the rest of us, she looked exhausted. "He said he'd go down to see what he could find out on Paul's behalf."

"Any word on where they housed Jessie?"

"Jessie? Who's that?" Cathy wondered exasperatedly.

Yet one more unanswered question to have to answer. _  
_

"What. Happened. Out. In. That. Swamp?" Ma interrupted my thoughts, her voice raising in furious despair. "How did Tony get shot?"

Beneath the anger, I heard fear, and the depth of it finally penetrated my conscience. At the very least, I owed her an explanation for what'd happened. She deserved to know the truth about her sons.

Taking a deep breath, I began, "Bruce Jackson is a former cop from LA who now works as a bounty hunter. Vinnie hired him to find Tony after he went FTA. We questioned his motives from the beginning, and our fears were founded. Yesterday afternoon he kidnapped Stephanie from Paul's house and took her to the swamp behind Lil Conroy's house."

"What!" Ma and the girls chorused in unison. Even Bella looked aghast.

"What madness is this?" Ma murmured.

"Poor Steph," Mary added compassionately.

"_Who_ is Lil Conroy?" Cathy demanded. "You keep throwing around these names like we're supposed to know everything. We know _nothing_, Joseph_."_

Her tone suggested she was perturbed I hadn't kept all of them better informed. _Like I'd had time to sit down for fucking tea and conversation during the past week!_

"Lil is Tony's lover," I bit out, trying to control my own increasing frustration.

"Madre di Dio!" Bella crossed herself in the background. I wasn't sure if it was for Tony's infidelity or the nightmare my wife had endured.

"Jackson is also known as Bulldog," I continued, using my cop's voice and trying to remain detached. "He took Stephanie because he believed Tony and Paul were hiding out there somewhere, and that she could find them."

"Well, obviously they _were_ out there," Cathy observed sourly, clearly having a hard time fighting her own emotions regarding our brothers.

"There was an old hunting trailer out there used by Lil's grandfather," I acknowledged. "Paul and Tony have been living out there the past two weeks. Once we learned about the trailer from a neighbor, we put together a search team and headed out. On the way, a storm knocked over a tree, and I was separated from the group for a time. I then ran into Paul, who informed me Bulldog had Stephanie hostage in the trailer."

"How did he get to Stephanie?" Ma questioned bemusedly.

"She was at Paul's house following up on a lead on Jessie Stampler."

"There's that name again," Cathy groused. "_Who_ is Jessie?"

"_Paul's _lover."

"Oh for God's sake!" she burst out, now thoroughly disgusted.

_Join the fucking club._

"This is embarrassing—"

"Don't start, Catherine," Ma warned.

"Oh—so sorry," Cathy's tone dripped with sarcasm. "I forgot that no one is to say a word against any of your precious sons!"

"I thought Stephanie had gotten some sense into her now that she's pregnant," Bella spoke up gruffly, a scowl marring her features.

I matched her scowl with one of my own.

"She left a message for me to meet her there, but I was in the midst of a murder investigation and didn't get the message. We've been searching for Jessie for days. She's a potential witness in Paul's case. Stephanie and Mary Lou found her hiding out at Paul's house, and that's where Jackson confronted them. He knocked out Mary Lou and took Stephanie."

"Mary Lou Stankovic was hurt too?" Ma's mouth dropped in horror.

"She's here on the neurological floor," I confirmed. "I don't know her current status."

"I can hardly believe what I'm hearing," Mary mused. "From what you're describing, it's a miracle Stephanie wasn't harmed further."

"She was harmed _plenty_," I bit out. "She stepped into quicksand, and the bastard pulled her clear out of her boots only to drag her the rest of the way on her back. We're damned lucky she and the babies are still breathing."

They all stood their, mouths agape—so appalled they were speechless for a change.

Ma was the first to recover her voice.

"Joseph."

She spoke my name softly and with such concern I almost broke. Despite the almost crippling anger I felt, she was still my mother. The comfort she could offer was enticing.

"Tony was hiding in the trailer unbeknownst to Bulldog. Once we got there, I sent Paul around to the other side of it, and I got into a confrontation with Jackson. Ranger Manoso and a team of cops and other professionals arrived in the midst of our showdown. There was a lot of confusion, especially when Paul came out from the side of the trailer, and Tony emerged from the house. The three of us encircled Jackson."

Ma put her hand to her mouth, while Bella and my sisters stared at me in dismay.

"Eventually, the three of us made a move together. Bulldog panicked and fired the shot that hit Tony. Stephanie's former partner Lula then took a shot to bring down Jackson."

"The heavy set one?" my grandmother wondered in curt amazement.

"The _smart _one," I corrected. "It gets more complicated. Jackson is a family friend to Brian Stampler, the cop who supposedly set Paul up to be an informant for the Newark Police Department. He's the brother of Jessie Stampler."

"I don't know how much more I can handle," my mother said weakly, and then added under her breath, "How much more must I be expected to handle?"

If anything, her plea infuriated me more, which only proved how angry I truly was with her.

Letting out a sigh, I braced myself to finish what needed to be said. "Paul is in serious trouble, Ma. He was seen leaving a warehouse yesterday morning where Jason Meachum and all his cronies were soon found shot to death."

Cathy immediately put a hand on Ma's arm in support, who had wavered on her feet.

"The good news is Bulldog was _also _seen leaving the same warehouse, and Brian Stampler was found nearby. The problem is that Paul has nothing to prove his innocence, and there's still far too much evidence in places where it shouldn't be—like Rocco's watch being found at Stephanie's old apartment."

Ma was completely befuddled. "Your father's watch was in Stephanie's apartment?"

I really _had_ kept a lot from her during the past couple of weeks. Was it happenstance, or had my brain subconsciously kept her in the dark on purpose?

It was tempting to leave her floundering like she'd left me. I had to force myself to provide a much more thorough update on all that'd transpired since my return from Barbados. _God, my honeymoon seemed like a friggin' lifetime ago already_. Who could have predicted what horrors would be waiting for Stephanie and me?

Or what blessings.

Still battling the resentment I was feeling toward my family—my mother in particular—I said, "Ma, I know you have a million questions, and I wish like hell I had better answers for you, but I don't. I obviously need to get down to the precinct. But right now, I _can't _leave Stephanie."

"And you shouldn't," Mary agreed. "If I was in her shoes, I'd die without Marcus being there."

"Me too," Cathy concurred, all trace of resentment gone from her voice. "We'll stay here with Ma and Tony. You go on ahead and do what you need to do."

My mother looked torn. "But—"

"Angela," Bella disciplined, surprising the heck out of me, "you have two grown daughters here with you—_and _me. Let Joseph do what he needs to do for his wife. You need to respect he's married now."

"I _do _respect that," Ma protested. "But we still have so much to talk about. I don't understand everything that's going on, and he hasn't yet said who told him about—about"

She faltered, looking distraught again.

The anxiety was back for me as well. Facts and details I could manage, but as soon as my past came back to the forefront of conversation, it was like dealing with a minefield of emotions.

"Ma—I'm asking you to leave it alone—"

"I _can't _leave it alone. Don't you see? This is my worst nightmare come to life! You have no idea what I promised—what we _all _promised—"

"Yeah—I do. I know exactly what you all did and didn't do."

"But _who_ told you?" she demanded, the stubborn Italian in her pushing at me as hard as I would someone during an interrogation.

Like mother like son.

"If it wasn't Angelina, it must've been Stephanie," she determined on her own, grasping at straws. "I _told _her to stop pushing when she came to my house on Thursday. What is it with these in-laws of mine—?"

"Don't you dare say anything derogatory toward Stephanie," I cut her off warningly. "She's been my only light in this mess."

My mother wasn't about to let my admonition stop her. "She—"

Practically growling, I blasted her. "You want to know who told me so badly? Fine—I'll tell you. _I _told me! My brain finally unlocked all the secrets my own family has been hiding from me for twenty-seven fucking years!"

"Joseph—"

"NO! Don't you get it? I remember!"

Looking at her shocked and stricken face, my voice lowered instinctively yet maintained its intensity. "I remember everything about that day—that week—the promises made and the lives forever changed because I stabbed Rocco. He was going to kill me. Tony killed _him_ in order to save my life."

"Don't say this—" Ma begged, almost in prayer.

"Oh Joey," Mary breathed, while Cathy turned pale.

"Good," Bella pronounced boldly from her post near the door. "It's about time."

_Wait. My grandmother WANTED me to know the truth? _What the hell was that all about?

"Bella!" Ma rebuked.

"No."

She shook her head firmly, thumping her cane once more.

"Stephanie warned you the other day that Joseph was remembering, Angela. You knew this day was coming. We _all _knew it would eventually come. Twenty-seven years we've had to prepare for it, and instead of handling it gradually—sensitively—with love and concern—we stood back and hid behind fear. How many times did I warn you—?"

"You don't understand." Ma's voice trembled, "None of you could possibly understand. You weren't in that garage with those policemen—"

"_I _was," I said sullenly. "I was there, and I remember every goddamned minute of that day from hell."

"But—but you were just a child—a baby." Her eyes pleaded with me to understand.

"Every. Goddamned. Minute," I repeated coldly and emphatically.

The room became awkwardly silent for several painful moments following my declaration.

Avoiding my mother's gaze, I finally said bitterly, "I have to go."

"No, don't. Don't leave like this," she protested. "We have to talk about what to do—how we're going to handle this."

I couldn't believe my ears. "_We! _There is no 'we'. _I've_ had to deal with my memories by myself for the past week with help from my amazing wife and a psychologist—"

"Omigod—Cheryl Sullivan?" Ma gasped, as understanding dawned. "That girl you sent down last night to talk to Bella and me? You've been telling _her_ about our family's issues?"

"Hunh—I knew she was trouble," Bella noted with a toss of her head.

"Jesus, I had to talk with _someone_," I shot back heatedly. "You certainly weren't talking to me. How do you think it feels to know my entire family has purposefully kept me in the dark almost my entire life? That my fucking boss has been lying to me for years as well."

"_What! _Your boss knows?"

"Don't tell me you didn't know Rogers was one of the cops who was there that day," I said sarcastically.

Her face was ghost white and sickly. I couldn't help but feel badly for being part of the cause of her frightful feelings. I was being an ass, and I knew it, but my head and mouth had seemingly disconnected.

"I—I didn't know," she said, sounding even more terrified than before. "What did he say? Have you confronted him too?"

_I was done. _Honest to God, I couldn't handle one more minute of their questions and relentless pressure.

"I'm leaving," I said for the third time since we'd entered the waiting room. Holding up my hand as my mother opened her mouth, I added, "And do not try and stop me again. I don't have time for this bullshit right now. You've had twenty-seven years to do the right thing by me, and consciously chose not to. You're all just going to have to wait on me this time."

I moved toward the door. Staring at the handle, I refused to look at the faces of the women in my life.

"Have me paged if something drastic happens with Tony. I'll try to find out what the status is with Paul and get back to you."

"Are we allowed to see Stephanie?" Cathy asked, finally coming out of the silent shell of shock she and Mary had been hiding under.

"Not today," I shook my head. "She needs the rest. In fact, I don't know when any of you will see her."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be an ass, Joe. You're allowing hurt feelings to prevent you from seeing the big picture. There were more lives than just yours at stake the day Dad died. Ma did the best she could to save her _sons_. And we all know what she'd do to save _you _in particular, don't we."

Her voice was thick with envy. Remembering the hellish sexual abuse she and Mary had endured at the hands of my father, my conscience panged. _Had Ma ever fought for them like she did for me—or Tony? _I didn't know, but I _did_ know I couldn't take another moment of my family and its crazy dynamics right then.

Leaning my palm against the doorjamb, I bent my head into the crook of my arm, momentarily spent.

Within seconds, my mother stepped forward and placed her palm on my back. Her voice had lost its hysterical tone, but was still concerned.

"Joseph, are you all right? I'm worried about you."

No matter how angry I was with her and the way she'd handled the past, she was my mother. Part of me still felt eight years old inside, and I wanted her to take away the fears eating at me.

Using her other hand, she turned my chin, so I was forced to look at her. Her eyes were damp and her face filled with such love for me I had to close my eyes against the intense, crippling pain her devoted concern toward me caused.

If only she'd told me the truth. _WHY hadn't she just told me the goddamned truth about my father?_

Swallowing back bitterness, I met her gaze reluctantly. "We'll talk later. Okay, Ma?"

She acquiesced rather unwillingly. "I agree this isn't the place for us to have a long overdue conversation, but until we do have it, promise me you won't talk about this—with anyone."

I shook my head, annoyed again. "No—I'm tired of all the secrets and lies. I can't live like that anymore. You're going to have to realize I'm a grown man now. I'm trying to live my life in a way _I _can stomach—and Stephanie and my children can be proud of. _They _are my priority now, and I'm not keeping a damned thing from her."

Ma's breath caught as she inhaled sharply.

_Shit—that was harsh._

"Tell Stephanie we love her," she responded, lifting her chin slightly in prideful self-defense.

I gave her one last look, feeling as though I should do something to ease her mind.

I simply couldn't do it.

"Tell Tony the same for me," I said abruptly and walked out the door.

My breathing grew easier with every step I took away from them. I could hardly wait to get back to Stephanie and the security she brought to my life, which was amazing considering where the two of us had been only the week before. Funny, how our own struggles with truth seemed like a lifetime ago. More importantly, they seemed insignificant in light of the fact I'd almost lost her and our children.

But first there was one more stop I had to make.

Five minutes later, I'd managed to track down Mary Lou's room in the neurological wing. A glance at the clock revealed it was still early—not even six thirty yet. As I made my way over to the nurses' station, a door down the hallway opened, and Lenny stepped out, looking frazzled.

"Colleen, my wife says her headache is worse. Is there any way to up the pain meds?"

Lenny saw me and rushed forward. "Joe! Shit, what the fuck is going on? I've been going crazy up here!"

"I know. I'm sorry," I apologized regretfully. "Hasn't anyone told you anything?"

"It's been like pulling teeth," he complained angrily. "That dude Manoso sent over here with Mary Lou—"

"Bobby?"

"Yeah—Bobby—he barely said two words to me. And when Stephanie's nurse came up last night to get details on Mare for you, she only gave me a brief rundown that Tony had been shot and Steph abducted into a swamp. That's it."

Lenny looked ready to rip my head off. "Who is this bastard that hurt my wife, and what the fuck were Mary Lou and Stephanie doing at Paul's house in the first place?"

"I know you're pissed, Lenny, and I don't blame you," I said evenly, "But first things first—how's Mary Lou?"

He ran a hand around the back of his neck. "She finally woke up around three-thirty this morning. She has a concussion, but no internal hemorrhaging or fractured skull. Her doctor assured me that if she made it through last night without internal bleeding, a complete recovery would be likely."

"That's huge! Thank God."

"Yeah, but from all indications, she has absolutely zero memory of what happened yesterday," he returned resentfully. "She doesn't even remember going shopping with Steph. In fact, the last thing she could recall was Thursday night's dinner at my parent's house."

"That's not unusual with concussions though, right?"

"According to the doctor, it's normal. It's weird though. She keeps asking the same questions over and over—only I don't have any answers to give her, seeing as I don't know what the hell happened. I haven't even told her about Stephanie yet."

"Don't—not yet. Let her rest."

"How _is _Steph?" he asked in a more normal tone, finally starting to come down from his testosterone-infused rage.

His anger hadn't affected me in the least. On the contrary, it was an emotion I could identify only too well with of late.

"She's stable. The doctor is concerned about pneumonia, but he's cautiously optimistic he can avoid it."

"Fuck—that's serious." Lenny shook his head. "And the babies? God, I haven't even seen you since the wedding to congratulate you!"

"I know. It's been pretty crazy."

"No shit," Lenny cursed heatedly. Pinning me with his fiercest glare, he commanded, "Would you _please_ tell me what the hell happened yesterday?"

The last thing I wanted was to rehash the whole thing again, but he deserved answers.

After giving him the rundown, I asked, "Is there anything I can do for your family?"

"Yeah—you can nail the bastard who did this to my wife."

"Oh I will—trust me, but is there anything tangible you need? Are the boys doing okay?"

"They're with my mom. I need to head over there soon to check on them and stop by our house to pick up a few things. It looks like Mary Lou's going to be here for a bit."

"Steph too—at least a week."

"And Tony? I'm sorry—I haven't even asked about your brother."

"He made it through surgery. He's on a ventilator, but we're trying to remain hopeful."

He gave me a sympathetic look. "This is messed up shit, Morelli."

"It is."

"Try and hang in there, man."

"I'm hanging. You too. Give Mary Lou a kiss from me."

His eyebrows shot up almost comically. "Hell no! You think I'm crazy? One kiss from "you", and she'll start wanting me to pretend I'm Joe Morelli in the bedroom too. _Shit_!"

After the tension of the past few minutes, his comment brought out the first true laugh I'd felt since I'd left Stephanie in our bedroom the previous morning frowning at her belly in the jeans that wouldn't close. God, how I missed our house and the sense of peace and normalcy it brought.

One step at a time.

After saying good-bye, I headed back down to Stephanie's room. To my surprise, she was awake when I entered the room and looking the most alert I'd yet to see her. She pushed her tray of food to the side and smiled upon seeing me.

"Hey, you're back."

"And _you're _awake. I'm impressed."

"Nurse Pollyanna woke me up for breakfast not too long ago," she grumbled. "It tasted like crap. I want an Egg McMuffin and a Boston crème in the worst way, Morelli."

Pushing the tray further aside, I sat down next to her on the bed. "The first chance I get, I'll get you one of each _if _Dr. Hamilton says it's okay."

"Hunh! If he has _his _way, I'll be eating spinach for the rest of my life."

She still looked pale, except for the twin flames on her cheeks from the fever.

"You're so beautiful," I found myself saying aloud, meaning every word. Having her alive and safe was the most beautiful thing in the world to me.

She managed to roll her eyes. "And you're full of crap. I look like hell." A small smile of pleasure formed against her will. "You've earned _major _brownie points for saying it though."

She took a closer look at my face.

"You however _don't_ look beautiful. In fact, _you_ really do look like hell—stressed, angry—" She stopped and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Omigod—is it Tony?"

"No, he's stable—for now," I hastened to assure her. "He's critical and on a ventilator, but so far he's holding his own."

Stephanie swallowed hard. "Is it Mare then?"

"No, I saw Lenny, and they're fairly confident she's going to be okay. She has a really bad concussion, but no brain damage or internal hemorrhaging."

"Okay," she breathed out slowly, before flashing me an intuitive glance. "Tony must be pretty bad off if they have him on a ventilator. How bad was the damage from the gun shot?"

"It went through his liver and lodged in his kidney, which they had to remove last night."

"Omigod—they took his kidney?" She looked horrified at the notion.

"He's lucky to be alive," I countered. "Tank saved his life out in that swamp."

She frowned. "I don't remember."

"No surprise there. You were in and out of it all night."

"Has anyone contacted Angelina?"

"She's here. Ranger had Lester pick up her, Adrienne and the kids in Atlantic City last night thanks to your super sleuthing from a couple of days ago."

"Ranger did?"

"Yeah."

She stared at me.

"What?" I prodded, knowing there was something eating at her.

Biting her lip, she broached, "I don't want to cause a problem here, but I have to ask. What the hell's going on with you and Ranger? He obviously helped with the rescue and involved his men too. And now you've given the okay for him to come in and visit me? I don't understand—"

Taking her hand, I gave it a gentle squeeze. "Cupcake, an unbelievable amount of shit happened yesterday from the time you and I said good-bye to one another at the house."

Remembering our last moment together, she gave a rather lop-sided smile. "I can hardly fathom it was only yesterday. Believe it or not, there are shopping bags filled with blue jeans and bras still sitting in the SUV—wherever that is."

"Probably still over at Paul's house. I'll have Mooch get it."

"I don't even know where my purse is."

"It probably got left at Paul's house too. Mooch can get another set of keys from my mother and take care of all of it. I had Cheryl call him to go get Bob and RJ last night."

She looked confused. "Was Cheryl in the swamp? I seem to remember hearing her voice."

I nodded. "She attended to you while Tank and Ranger took care of Tony."

"She's certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty," Steph observed, her brow puckered.

Thinking of my emotional breakdown in the helicopter the night before, I nodded. "She has."

"But _why_ was she there? Did you call her to come? I'm so confused!"

The flush in her face was deepening from straining to remain awake. Running my fingers through the hair at the side of her head, I said, "You should sleep some more."

Stephanie shifted restlessly. "I will, but I want to know what happened yesterday first. I feel like I'm just waking up from a nightmare and still need to put all the pieces together."

"You _are _just waking from a nightmare, and it doesn't have to be figured out all at once—"

"There's more you haven't told me," she accused, watching my face closely.

"Yes. I _told _you there's more."

_Why was I getting so agitated_? It wasn't as if I wanted to ignore the tough questions, but I knew she didn't have the stamina to handle what else I needed to tell her.

However, that damned intuition of hers had other ideas. "How's your mom. Did you see her downstairs too? She's got to be a wreck about Tony—and Paul."

"I saw her," I said shortly. "Bella and my sisters too."

"Well how are they? Did they give you a hard time about leaving them? They count on you for so much. Are they—?"

"It's fine. They're fine." I bit off. "Everything's—"

"Fine. So you've said," she said sardonically, raising an eyebrow. "Why are you shutting me out?"

"I'm not," I shot back defensively. _God, I didn't want to fight with her. _Forcing myself to meet her gaze, I confessed, "Steph, it's not that I don't want to tell you everything, because I want nothing more than that—believe me. But it's heavy stuff, and you're not physically ready to handle all of it. You _need _to sleep—"

"Don't baby me!" she scolded grouchily.

"I'm not_ babying_ you. I'm concerned—"

She sighed melodramatically again, and my control snapped.

"Damn it, Stephanie—I could've easily lost you and the babies last night. I'm not taking chances here. Dr. Hamilton said you need to rest, and that's what you're going to do. When you're stronger, I'll gladly tell you—"

"But I won't be able to rest until you tell me what's going on," she pointed out, getting more upset by the minute.

I couldn't let an argument get out of hand between us—not with the health of her and the babies still in question.

"Alright, calm down," I relented, easing my tone. "I'll make you a deal—"

"No deals, Morelli." She shook her head almost petulantly thanks in part to the fever. "I know all your tricks."

I was completely exasperated.

"It's no trick! Why do you have to be so goddamned stubborn all the time?"

A mischievous smirk played about her lips. "Because I'm a Morelli?"

"No way—" I shot back, a small snort escaping. "The Plums have the art of being obstinate down to a science."

"Maybe," she conceded with a silly grin. But then her face clouded, and she added nervously, "Just think of our poor children—inheriting it from both sides. We're doomed."

"We're blessed," I countered, staring into her eyes—still the most beautiful blue I'd ever seen. My voice was hoarse when I continued, "I'll take those babies any way I can get them, Cupcake—just as long as they—and you—are healthy and safe."

Her eyes softened. "Me too."

She ran a hand over my bristly jaw line. "I'm going to be okay, Joe—I promise. But I'll be even better if you tell me what's gnawing at you—besides being concerned over the babies and me. I know you've got to be scared to death about Tony, and where's Paul?"

"Still at the precinct—I think. They've got him, Bulldog and Brian Stampler housed there until I can get in to help with the interrogations."

"You found Stampler?"

Resigning myself to the fact that Stephanie was not going to rest until she knew what all had transpired yesterday; I maneuvered around on the bed until she was once again wrapped in my arms. For as long as I lived, I'd never grow tired of holding her.

"Ranger and Lula got a call from Bobby and Lester that first Paul and then Bulldog had been seen running from a warehouse down around Stark Street. Bobby took off after Bulldog, while Lester went inside to investigate." I paused. "He found Meachum and his gang all shot to death."

"Oh my God!" she whisper, sucking in her breath.

"I was at the scene in minutes. At first Ranger was with me, but then he went outside to check on Lula."

"Too many cops," my smart wife mused beneath her breath.

"Evidently, she took off after someone while talking to Ranger. Turned out it was Stampler. He was nearby keeping an eye on the warehouse."

"Lula brought him down by herself?"

"She did."

"She really _has _gotten better, hasn't she?" Steph couldn't stop the envy that had crept into her voice.

"She has."

Running a hand beneath her nose, she asked, "Will you hand me a Kleenex?"

I felt her face. "You're getting warmer. You _have _to rest, Steph."

"I will," she said tiredly. "What happened next?"

Finding the balance between being supportive versus protective with her was exhausting me as well.

"Ranger sent Lester to get me inside the warehouse. Rogers was there too, and together we came out to confront Stampler. He acted like a real ass, and the two of us got into an altercation."

"You fought?" Her voice was getting more slurred. Looking down, I saw her eyes were already closed.

"More like I shoved him around a bit. Anyway, Ranger moved in to stop me, and in doing so, wrapped his arm around my neck. And that's when I remembered."

I waited for her to prod me on, but was met with silence.

She was asleep.

As much as I wanted to share the rest with her, I was grateful she was finally giving in to her fatigue. I was afraid she was coming down with some sort of cold, which was probably to be expected after having been dragged around in yesterday's weather conditions without her boots. Still, it was one more worry we didn't need.

I needed to get up and go through all of the messages that were probably waiting for me on my phone. Listening to Stephanie's breathing even out, however, was hypnotizing. The lull of sleep was too strong, and I gave in as well.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

Sitting outside of the makeshift bonds office, I mentally psyched myself up for what was to come. I _hated _the idea of having to meet with Vinnie, but after having stopped at the police station right at eight o'clock to obtain the receipt on Tony's bond, it was time to put an end to our temporary alliance.

I also wanted to talk with him about what had been sifting through my brain the past four days—ever since my lunch with Stephanie at Rossini's.

_Did I REALLY want to go down that road?_

The same question had nagged me over and over, particularly late the night before after I'd gotten into bed. It was a huge decision for more than one reason, and one I couldn't jump into hastily.

Sliding out of the Turbo, I made my way inside the shithole Vinnie was using temporarily for his headquarters. I couldn't even remember if he'd started work on another location yet or not. I'd pretty much separated myself from him as much as possible until the past week.

Despite being early Saturday morning, Connie was already hard at work on her computer, her long nails clickity-clacking on her keyboard. When she heard me walk in, her head popped up— immediately followed by her entire body.

"Thank God—what do you know about Stephanie?" she demanded in a rushed voice. "We got word there was some sort of ordeal in a swamp over the police scanner, but we couldn't get any more information than that, and when Vinnie tried to call down to the precinct, he was completely stonewalled."

I tilted my head slightly toward his office door. "Is he in?"

"Yeah. _Vinnie!_" she called out loudly. "Get out here and talk to Ranger." To me, she added, "Please—please tell me Steph and the babies are okay."

"As far as I know—"

Vinnie's door banged open. "Well, look who finally decided to make an appearance. Where the fuck you been the past four days, Manoso?"

"Doing your job," I replied softly. My tone suggested I wasn't about to take bullshit from anyone—and I wasn't.

"Tell us what happened in the swamp. What swamp was it?" Connie begged, coming around to the other side of the counter. "I could hardly sleep last night I was so worried."

"You got my receipt?" Vinnie asked, his beady gaze eyeing my empty hands.

His lack of concern over his cousin grated.

Addressing Connie, I noted, "As far as I know, Stephanie's okay for now. She's over at Helene Fuld. Her doctor is concerned about pneumonia."

"What on earth was she doing out in a swamp?" Connie wondered.

My eyes never left Vinnie's as I spoke the next words. "It wasn't her choice. Bulldog abducted her."

"What!"

Connie's mouth dropped open in fright before morphing into one of the angriest, scariest expressions I'd ever seen on a woman. She turned and walloped Vinnie upside the head.

"I _told_ you that man was no good the day he walked in the door. Didn't I say there was more to his background than meets the eye? You didn't even care—told me not to bother looking. You asshole! You almost got your cousin fucking killed!"

Vinnie was unfazed. "What do you mean Bulldog abducted her? That wasn't on the scanner."

"The whole thing has been kept quiet, due to it being related to the murders of Jason Meachum and his cronies."

Connie gasped. "Meachum's dead too?"

"You hadn't heard?" I responded casually, knowing damned well the information hadn't been made public yet.

"And Bulldog is related to _that _case?"

"Right." My eyes continued to bore into Vinnie's.

"Get back to Steph," Connie begged. "Where did Bulldog take her?"

"He had her out in the swamp behind Lil Conroy's house."

"Conroy. Conroy—I know that name," Vinnie hummed. He snapped his fingers. "You mean Tony Morelli's bimbo?"

I didn't take offense to his characterization of Lil. He was right—she _was _a bimbo. However, she was also missing—no doubt three states away by now after having caught wind the cops had been at her house.

"One in the same," I affirmed. "The Morelli brothers evidently hid out there. Bulldog caught the scent and literally dragged Stephanie out to find them."

"Poor Steph," Connie murmured, tears glazing her eyes. "You're sure the babies are okay?"

"They seem to be," I replied, still watching Vinnie carefully. "Morelli had a standoff with Jackson out there in the swamp. Luckily he had the rest of us surrounding him. He and his brothers encircled Bulldog, who had Stephanie at gunpoint. They made a move and Bulldog shot Tony."

Connie shook her head in disbelief. Vinnie's face had yet to change expression.

"Thank God someone was able to get a shot off and hit Jackson in the leg. He's down at the police station with a flesh wound."

"Did you take the shot, Ranger?" Connie inquired breathlessly.

"No. It was Lula."

_That _got a reaction out of the weasel. "Yeah right," he scoffed. "You're fucking full of it, Manoso. That 'ho can't shoot the side of a barn. She ain't good for nothing but—"

The front of his shirt was in my fists before I even realized I'd made a move.

"Don't you even think about saying something against her, you pathetic bastard," I warned. "Not only did she take Bulldog down, but she also captured Brian Stampler single-handedly."

"Who the hell is he?"

"Another suspect we've been looking for on Morelli's behalf. Lula did the job. She's learned how to be a damned fine bounty hunter—no thanks to you."

"I can hardly believe it," Connie said dazedly. "You're _sure _it was Lula?"

One eyebrow quirked. "I'm rarely wrong."

"Wow." She looked at me in stunned admiration. "You're even better than I thought, and I already thought you were pretty damned amazing."

"Well, I don't believe it," Vinnie spoke emphatically.

"Believe what you want, but you owe me—not only for Morelli's capture, but for the successful training of Lula. My job is officially done."

His eyebrows shot up. "_You're _taking the money? Didn't you just say Lula shot him?"

"I did. And yes—I'm taking the money." Pulling the receipt from my wallet, I set it on top of the counter.

Vinnie eyed me shrewdly. "How do I know you really trained Lula? You could be lying to me? You could take this money and run, and I'll never see you again."

I merely continued to stare at him. "Have you ever known me to run?"

"I've seen you disappear before—yes." His expression grew even more suspicious. "What the fuck are you up to anyway? I don't have time for games."

He pointed to a stack of FTA folders a foot high on top of Connie's desk. "You see those? I'm backed up until Christmas. Joyce is off with some new boyfriend in the Bahamas, and with you trying to train Lula, I've got no one working. I don't have time for this bullshit. I'm—"

"Shut up, Vinnie."

The command had been spoken quietly, but evidently he understood I'd meant it.

"Let's talk."

"Talk?" Vinnie parroted. "About what?"

"Your office—now."

Striding past him, I waited while he fussed at Connie. "Hold my calls—unless it's Lucille—or Harry."

I couldn't imagine anyone willingly calling Vinnie.

Slamming the door behind him, he sauntered cockily over to slump into his chair, and I noticed for the first time how stressed he looked.

"What do you want, Manoso?"

"You're in serious shit, Vinnie," I said simply.

He scowled. "The hell you say?"

"Once the police find out you hired Bulldog to go after Tony—and essentially Paul—without any real background check, they're going to take you down."

"What the fuck is this?" he demanded, leaning forward in his chair. "Who told you that?"

"No one has to tell me anything," I countered, making certain my posture was casual and nonthreatening in my chair. "I know how cops work. They've got a mess on their hands, and they're going to need a fall guy. You're an easy target. How hard will it be for them to prove you've had a run of bad luck in the past couple of years—first with Lucille's father over your business, then the bonds office fiasco, and now hiring a professional hit man to go after one of your FTA's? It doesn't look good, Vinnie."

"Like you know anything you're talking about," he jeered. He was trying his best to look unaffected, but I could see sweat beginning to bead over his upper lip.

"Oh, I know. Believe me. You'll be lucky if they don't shut you down."

"You think?" The words were out before he could stop them. Narrowing his gaze, he answered his own question. "Nah—you're full of shit, Manoso."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Vinnie pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and brought out a bottle of scotch and a glass. Quickly pouring himself a shot, he downed it and shook his head hard.

"I'm so fucking tired of this crap. I'm ready to retire."

_And here we go._

"So you said when I was here on Tuesday. Sounds like it's really starting to get to you?"

He poured another glass and took a healthy gulp. "If you only knew the shit I've had to put up with the past two years. Pressure from Harry and Lucille, Connie being insubordinate, Stephanie driving me out of my fucking mind, and Lula—"

He paused reflectively and took another drink.

"Hell, I don't know what that fatty ever did for me except wear out the goddamned couch in my waiting area." He eyed the bottle and then me. "You want one?"

"No thanks." _God only knew what disease I could catch from sharing a bottle with Vinnie._

He shrugged and poured another shot. After downing it, he squinted his eyes. "You really think the cops are going to get in my shit?"

"No question in my mind," I confirmed. "They've turned a blind eye your way for years with the way you allow your bounty hunters to push the legal limits. I don't think they could look away from something this serious. You should've done a thorough background check, Vinnie."

He chewed on the end of his fingernail before taking a swallow from his glass. "What do you think I should do?"

"Truthfully? I'd seriously consider heading down to—where was it—Palm Beach?" I suggested in a nonthreatening tone. "Wasn't that where you said Harry had a place lined up for you and Lucille?"

"Yeah," Vinnie sighed, his mind already in the midst of palm trees and ocean breezes.

Continuing my casual tone, I pressed a little harder, "What's stopping you from doing it?"

He sat up straight. "What's it to you anyway?"

Shrugging, I said indifferently, "Just shooting the shit while Connie cuts me my check."

Vinnie shook his finger, his voice slurring slightly. "I don't believe you. You always have something up your sleeve—other than just muscle."

He laughed at his own joke, while I stifled an eye roll.

"I can't go," he lamented, ignoring his own advice not to trust me with his secrets. "I'm so far in debt, I'll never dig my way out. Hell, I don't even technically have an office right now. Construction on the new place keeps getting put off for one reason or another. It might very well be spring before we're out of this hell hole."

"Damn," I commiserated. "That's rough, Vinnie. I feel for you."

"Right," he sneered. "Nothing like this ever happens to you."

"I've made my share of mistakes."

"Like boffing my cousin!" he snorted, letting out a silly, high-pitched laugh and slapping the top of his desk with his fist.

_Patience, Carlos._

"That's funny, Vinnie," I said through gritted teeth. Maintaining self-control, I worked to get the conversation back on track. "If a serious offer came in to get you out from underneath all of this, would you consider it?"

He shrugged and took another drink. "Depends on how serious. Why, you looking to buy?" he giggled again, finally setting the bottle aside.

"You never know."

He grunted again. "Ranger Manoso—bondsman extraordinaire'. It's got a real ring to it."

"Would you be interested?"

"No."

I stood to leave and said affably, "No problem. Just thought I'd ask. Good luck with the police, Vinnie. Maybe Morelli will put in a good word for you for old time's sake."

Pausing, I allowed my voice to take on a bemused quality. "Wait—no—that won't work. I forgot he's still pissed at how you treated his wife when she chose to leave because she was pregnant. Shit, I hope he isn't out looking for revenge or anything."

Vinnie objected angrily, "I didn't do anything—"

I waved him off. "Doesn't matter anyway, right? Steph's out of the picture, and you're moving on with a fully trained Lula. Hopefully she'll want to stick around now that she knows what she's doing." I paused again. "Of course she and Tank _are_ living together. She might feel more comfortable working for the same company he does."

The weasel was practically apoplectic. "You'd steal from me? After all the business I sent your way, you asshole?"

"After all the money I made for you?" I returned evenly, still showing no malice. "And Lula's an independent woman—a fact she more than made me aware of during the past week. She'll do what's best for her regardless of what you and I want."

"You're not serious!"

"I'm serious about starting a bonds business. It'll provide me with a good training ground for future Rangeman employees." My face turned sympathetic. "But don't worry—I'm sure there are more than enough criminals out there to warrant several bonds agencies in Trenton. You and I will have a friendly competition, right?"

I turned and moved to the door.

"You threatening me, Manoso?" Vinnie's pronounced Jersey accent was slurred. He was definitely feeling the affects of the scotch. "You gonna try to run me out of business? Well fuck you, man! You're nothing but a hoodlum yourself."

My eyes gleamed as I stared at the door. No point in allowing Vinnie to see how easy he was making this for me.

"No games," I returned, still not looking at him. "It's a legitimate business transaction. I have the capital to do it on my own. I just thought I'd try to help out a friend first—one who had told me he was getting tired of the rat race and wanted out. I guess I was wrong though. No harm."

Slowly I turned the doorknob.

It only made half a revolution before Vinnie called out nervously, "Cut all the bullshit, Manoso. You really going to start your own bonds agency?"

"I want to diversify the business I already have and increase training opportunities. Yes, I'm serious."

I still hadn't turned around, and I didn't—not until Vinnie spoke again.

"Sit down."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

The first thing I heard upon emerging from sleep was the comforting sounds of the fetal monitor beside me. It still surprised me to be able to hear the heartbeats of my two babies pulsing in sync inside my belly. The profound beauty of listening to the swishing hum was helping to wash away some of the terror from the day before.

Joe was on his cell phone over in the corner of the room, and my next realization was that the sound of his voice was equally reassuring to me. All throughout my ordeal in the swamp I'd wanted nothing more than to have him hold me. Having found the solace I'd needed from him the previous night and that morning, I found I was becoming more alert and ready to face reality again.

"Try to stall a little longer, and I'll get down there as soon as I can, will you?" Joe was saying to someone. "No, don't ask for Smith. Get Ling to do it. She did the forensics for me a few nights ago over at Paul's house. I trust her…Tell Rogers I'm sorry I haven't returned his calls, but I seriously haven't had time. I'll try to call him in a little while…Yeah, I know. The whole thing was fucked up…No, I haven't heard any additional word on how he's doing. I only know he made it through the surgery. I guess no news is good news, right?...Yeah…Thanks for all your help, Rodriguez. You and Davis pulled more than your share of the weight on this deal."

Joe glanced over and saw me watching him.

"I got to go—Steph's awake…I'll get there when I can, okay?…Yeah, thanks. Later."

Disconnecting, his chocolate-colored eyes met mine. "Hey, sleepyhead."

"How long was I out?" I asked, surprised at how gravelly my voice sounded. And yet, I definitely felt stronger than I had even earlier that morning.

"About three hours. It's nine thirty. Feel any better?"

"Like I've been mowed down by the defensive line for the Jets."

He winced in sympathy.

"I bet. You look better though—your color does anyway. Are you hungry?"

"Are you getting heat from the precinct?" I asked instead, ignoring his question and looking up at him expectantly.

My 'Joe-ition'—a combination of love and intuition—was on red alert.

He shrugged and ran a hand through the curls at the nape of his neck. "Nothing I can't handle." He reached for the call button. "I'd better call for the nurse—"

For some reason, his cavalier attitude ticked me off.

"Stop treating me like I'm going to break, will you?" I accused, glowering at him. "I realize I scared the shit out of you last night, but that was _last night_. It's a brand new day, and I'm okay—or I will be once I get out of this place. The babies are going to be okay too. You'll see."

Joe closed his eyes briefly—probably seeking patience. He managed to work up a smile. "I'm not treating you like anything, Cupcake—"

"Don't Cupcake me—I'm serious," I protested. "I want to know what's going on with you and everyone else. I've lost practically half a day of my life, and you're avoiding the issues. Fill in the blanks for me—now."

His gaze grew a little chillier. "I did start to tell you about yesterday earlier, but we both fell asleep. Can I help that?"

Flushing with embarrassment, I admitted, "No—and I'm sorry I fell asleep—"

"Don't be. Resting is what you _should _be doing."

There it was again—the rather high-handed assumption he knew what was best for me. Of course, maybe he did. I _had _been out of it for more than twelve hours, and no doubt Joe had been fabulous from what I could remember. Still, now that the immediate crisis was over, I felt like I was talking to another physician—not my husband.

Seeking a different approach, I patted the bed beside me. "Come here. You haven't even given me a real kiss yet. I've missed you."

He smiled wistfully. "I've missed you too."

Walking over, he gave me a potent, albeit brief, kiss on the lips.

"Love you," he murmured, already pulling away.

Even his words seemed distracted. _What the hell had happened yesterday other than the obvious?_

Grasping the back of his neck, I tugged him back down and gave him a much more thorough kiss, allowing my tongue to tease his playfully. Probably it wasn't such a good idea, however, because I was starting to get all hot and bothered. _Shoot!_

"Mmmmm…come closer," I invited alluringly—well as alluring as one can be when hooked up to a plethora of machines and hasn't showered in twenty-four hours.

For a brief moment, Joe forgot everything and gave me what I needed—his warmth, his attention and the sense he was totally in love with me as much as I was with him. But all too soon, he retreated yet again.

"We shouldn't get too excited," he warned, breathing harder. "I'm sure making out isn't on Dr. Hamilton's list of approved activities. I'll call the nurse. She'll want to check you—"

I'd reached my limit.

"Joseph Morelli—either you tell me what the hell is going on with you, or I'm going to scream at the top of my lungs right now." Narrowing my eyes, I added, "And you know I've got great lung capacity too."

His face hardened. "Don't call me that."

_Huh? _"Call you what?"

"Joseph. Call me Joe, hubby—honey—hell—even 'hey you'—I don't care. But right now I don't want to hear the word Joseph." He'd straightened and was slowly moving away from the bed.

I was completely floored. "What in the hell is _wrong _with you, Morelli?"

Watching the struggle on his face, I realized I was pushing too hard.

"Joe—please—come back and sit down." My voice was nothing but a whisper.

Waiting until he reluctantly complied, I took his hand. "Okay, enough of this—on both our parts. Before I fell asleep you told me you had an altercation with Stampler. What happened next?"

He swallowed hard. "Steph—"

"Tell me."

Closing his eyes, he seemed to be dig for courage. _Courage for_ _what?_

"Ranger put his arms around my neck to pull me off of Stampler," he began. "The motion was enough to send me straight back to my mother's garage."

_Oh shit._ "You remembered."

He exhaled slowly. "Yeah."

"Tell me," I said again, squeezing his hand gently. "I promise I'm okay, Joe. Please, let it out."

His expression changed—almost as if he were thankful to have been given permission to unburden his soul.

"I stabbed my father in the leg with Tony's switchblade."

_Tread carefully. Tread carefully. _"Okay," I said slowly. "Did he die?"

"No—not at first. Tony was in the garage too."

_He was? _"What happened?"

"He and my father got into a huge fight. Rocco kept trying to hurt me, and Tony struggled to push him off of me. My father pulled the knife from out of his leg, prepared to use it on me."

I was so shocked I couldn't respond. _My God, his own father had been willing to kill him? _The thought of Joe as an eight-year old boy trembling in fear from one of the two people who should've loved him the most in this world sickened me more than any morning sickness I'd experienced to date. I had to put a hand to my stomach in an effort to stem the queasiness that'd overtaken me.

"Tony made a move and in the midst of the struggle, he stabbed my father."

Joe looked at me with tortured eyes. "Tony was the one who killed my father."

I literally couldn't speak. I didn't even dare breath for fear Joe would shatter; he looked so lost.

"Ma came in and found us all. Paul and the girls saw too. She screamed for Paul to call 911. I passed out after that, and when I came to, there was a policeman—two of them actually—questioning Ma and Tony. Ma kept lying, telling them she was the one to stab Rocco."

"To protect her sons."

Joe shook his head disgustedly. "I guess. I don't really know, seeing as she's never said a goddamned word about any of this to me."

_He was angry with his mother—hence the sensitivity to the name Joseph. It made sense._ Hell, I was angry with his mother too—in fact the whole damned family. How could they not have known this secrecy would come back to haunt them?

I ran my hand up and down Joe's arm, hoping to provide sense of comfort.

He continued, "The one cop decided to call for the chief, a guy named Barlow, to come straighten everything out. I passed out again, and the next time I was coherent Chief Barlow was there. He pressured Ma to tell the truth. Finally Tony told him what really happened. There was a lot of arguing and discussion back and forth, but in the end, Barlow decided to cover the whole thing up."

"Seriously? Could he do that?"

Joe stared at me.

"The police can do whatever they want, Steph." He didn't sound too proud of the fact. "The chief, the two paramedics, the two other cops, Tony and Ma all made a pact that no one would ever speak of what really happened again. They made up the lie my father died from a heart attack and swore my whole immediate family to secrecy—accept for me. They brainwashed me into forgetting."

"That's a pretty strong word," I noted quietly.

"It's the fucking truth," he retorted heatedly, his eyes flashing like twin coals of heat. "And do you want to know what bites more than anything else?"

"Yes." _No? Maybe? _I was so friggin' appalled at everything he'd said so far; I wasn't sure if I could handle much more.

"When I was down in Tony's room earlier and told my mother I knew the truth, she fucking tried to get me to keep quiet again."

While I was seething inside on Joe's behalf (_W__ho the fuck brainwashed their child?_), I could understand the terror Mrs. Morelli must've felt as well, knowing Tony could've been tried and convicted as an adult. Angie had been put into a no-win situation from the start. Unfortunately, there was no way Joe would be able to see that—not for a while at least.

Now that he had finally begun to open up, Joe's anger and resentment was beginning to visibly burn.

"And here's the kicker," he continued, shaking his head in seemingly disbelief. "Rogers was one of the two cops there that day."

My jaw dropped. "You're joking."

"I wish! He was a rookie cop. When I came out of the flashback, he was standing over me, and I knew for certain. I accused him before we went into the swamp, and he admitted it."

"He kept the secret too," I marveled. "But at what cost? Look at the price your own family members have paid for their duplicity. It had to have been a horrible burden for Rogers to carry all these years. You say the file was sealed?"

"Yeah. Eddie found it in the archives yesterday. It's sitting on my desk at work right now."

"Did you look at it?"

"No. I couldn't bring myself to do it. It's a sealed file."

I couldn't help but smile. Even in the midst of his most desperate anger and confusion, my husband had maintained his integrity. _God, I loved him._

The magnitude of what he'd endured yesterday hit me full force. No wonder he was agitated. He was drowning in emotion.

"You're feeling guilty about Tony, aren't you?" I questioned perceptively.

Joe dropped his head back to stare up at the ceiling.

"Why shouldn't I? Jesus, Steph—_he_ was my father in every sense of the word. Not only did he take those beatings for me and the rest of my siblings all those years, but he also willingly stepped in and saved my life against my father. Now yesterday he came to my aid again and got shot in the process."

"What _did _happen exactly?"

He quickly described how he, Paul and Tony had trapped Bulldog.

When he'd finished, I used the front of his scrubs as leverage to pull Joe closer. Kissing him softly, I murmured, "You literally saved _my _life yesterday. Thank you."

His eyes reflected his own personal nightmare. "I saved mine too. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you I've never been so scared in all my life, Stephanie. I can't live without you. Not now—"

"I understand, and I feel the same way," I assured him. "I'm just thankful you were able to take down Bulldog. If he's responsible for all of these deaths—"

"It wasn't just me," he interrupted emphatically. "Paul, Tony, Lula—the whole team helped."

"Lula?"

"She shot Jackson in the leg after he shot Tony."

"Lula!"

Joe gave a half-smile and said with grudging respect, "Ranger did his job well this week."

I was truly dazed. "I don't believe it." A slow, prideful smile blossomed across my face at my formerly discombobulated partner. "Go Lula!"

"No doubt."

Hearing Ranger's name reminded me he'd been the one to set Joe's flashback in motion.

"What was Ranger's response to your flashback?" I asked curiously.

Joe went silent.

"Joe?"

"I told him everything."

My heart started thumping harder. "You're serious?"

"I didn't have much of a choice. He knew something was going on with me. After we found out Bulldog had taken you to the swamp, he drove me to Lil Conroy's place. On the way, he pretty much pushed me into confiding in him."

"I've never known you to be pushed into anything."

His eyes locked with mine. "I needed the support. Between the flashback and worry over you, I was barely holding it together."

I felt my protective hackles go up. "Did he give you grief?"

"Surprisingly no. Manoso was pretty much amazing yesterday—all week actually." He shook his head ruefully. "I thought I owed him after the Kennard mess. I'll never get out from underneath the debt I owe him now."

Carefully weighing my words, I offered, "I know there's been a lot of bad blood, but I've told you before there's a lot of respect between you two as well. Maybe one good thing that will come out of this whole nightmare will be some sort of truce between you two."

"I wouldn't hold your breath. He still hates my guts."

I waited a beat.

"And do you hate _him_?"

Joe took a moment to respond. "I don't hate him—no. While I may never be able to forget the treacherous role he played in our past, I want to be able to move on." He paused again. "And I also finally understand he needs some part of you in his life."

"Is that why you said he could visit?"

"That—and the fact I think you need him too."

I shook my head. Taking his hand and placing it, along with mine, over my abdomen. "I _do _want to be his friend, but, believe me—all I need is right here."

He choked out a laugh. "I think Cheryl is still trying to figure out the dynamics between the three of us as well."

"So is that why she was in the swamp—to help you?"

"Yeah."

I took a deep breath. "It's starting to make sense. Thank you for finally telling me."

"I've been _wanting _to tell you since it happened yesterday. It's been hell without your support."

"Do you feel any better?"

"I won't feel better until you and the babies are home and safe, Tony's better, Paul _and _Tony are free and Bulldog and Stampler are brought to justice."

"So much to do," I murmured, "And you're stuck up here with me."

Joe glared at me fiercely. "Don't you _ever _say something like that again. There is _no place _I'd rather be than by your side. You and our babies are my whole world.

I backpedaled immediately. "I know, and I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I just meant once again you've been put into a position where you can't please everyone, and you'd like to be everywhere at once. You _want _to be here with me. You feel _obligated _to be there for Tony, and you have the _responsibility _to be at the precinct to figure out the mess down there."

He was silent so long; I thought I'd really angered him.

"Joe?"

"Rogers is pushing to get the interrogation process started. If I want to have any influence I need to be there. Not only am I worried about Paul, but I'm concerned about Jessie too." His eyes were filled with apprehension. "She was out in that swamp with us, along with Stampler. From what I could tell, she didn't seem well."

"She looked sickly at Paul's too," I agreed and waited until he looked me in the eyes again before adding, "You should go down to the precinct and check on all of them."

"No."

"Listen to me!" I admonished. "I'm _okay_. I have all of these people looking after me, and I'm going to spend most of the day sleeping anyway. We'll both feel better if you go home, get cleaned up and get down to the precinct. As much as we both hate it, too many people _are _counting on you, Joe. We need to put this ordeal behind us once and for all."

He was vacillating; I could tell.

"I want to be here when the doctor comes in, and to stand guard over you when your mom arrives."

I felt a pang in my chest. "My mother is coming?"

"With cake."

"Oh? Well okay, then. Why didn't you say that in the first place? See? I'll be fine. I'm serious—go find out what the hell is happening at the precinct before we both die from curiosity."

"Are you sure?" he asked carefully, beginning to capitulate.

"Positive. And when you come back, you can bring me a Pino's sub."

That brought out the first real smile I'd seen since I'd awakened. "You trying to get me in trouble with Dr. Hamilton?"

"Please?" I pouted.

"We'll see," he teased, "but if I do, _no _peanut butter."

I grinned back at him. "Deal."

My smile faded. "Everything's going to be okay, hubby. I promise."

"I trust you," he answered quietly, giving me a slight smile over the 'hubby' crack. In a deadly serious tone, he continued, "Thanks for listening. I feel better now that you know."

"It's time to go kick some major butt, Morelli. Bring your brothers some justice." I waited a beat. "Make Tony proud."

He took in a shaky breath, but gave a single, firm nod.

"I will."


	24. Chapter 24

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Yes, I'm still alive and still writing. It just seems like I've dropped off the face of the earth...that's all. I'm hoping the fact that I have a REALLY long chapter makes up for the longer gaps between updates.

I've added a member to my Beta team, because my brain is in desperate need of extra help! LOL! So know I have to thank my fabulous Beta reader Julie AND the amazing KIMDLE herself...Kimmy Girl! You BOTH know that you were the driving forces in getting this chapter to completion, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Thank you to ALL for hanging in there with me. We are getting near the end, folks.

Oh, and this chapter is dedicated to Michael...wherever he is...whoever he is. ;-)

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four

**Joe's POV**

"Morelli!"

"Joe! Hey, Moriarty, look—Morelli's back."

"Good to see you, man. How's Steph?"

"We're fuckin' gonna nail that bastard, Morelli."

"You better go talk to Rogers, dude. He's been holed up in his office all day."

The sights, smells and sounds of the precinct enveloped me in a warm blanket of familiarity as I stepped into the vice and homicide bullpen roughly two hours later. Hearing my team members call out their encouragement was reassuring—perhaps even revitalizing. Mistrust and confusion still prevailed within the force as a result of the Kennard fallout. I'd only been the head of the newly merged unit for two weeks, and the majority of that time had been spent out of the office working on the mess surrounding my brothers. That so many of my men were at their desks on a Saturday, working overtime in support of me, was nothing short of humbling.

"Hey," I greeted in a strong, purposeful voice, encompassing them all with a nod of acknowledgement. "I appreciate you guys coming in."

"How's your wife?" one of the newer hires called out. "And your brother?"

"Holding their own," I replied, not wanting to reveal too much personal information. "Thanks for asking, Simms."

My gaze swept the room. "I know you have a lot of questions. So do I—"

"Are your brothers responsible for all this?" someone else called out.

Rodriguez immediately stood up behind his desk. "Shit, Maxwell—put a fucking sock in it right now!"

I waved Manny off. The question was a legitimate one and hadn't been asked with malice. My men were simply curious about the case _and _me. I could hardly blame them.

"I don't know, Maxwell, but it's a fair question. I hope to have better answers today. In the meantime, I'm leaving Rodriguez in charge of the Meachum murders."

"You're not taking the lead?" Pete Simms asked curiously.

"I'm supervising, yes, but there's obviously a huge conflict of interest at stake here. I need to talk to Rogers."

Stumpy Davis stood. "Don't worry—we're _all _behind you, Morelli."

"That's right," a familiar voice agreed.

Eddie, Carl and Big Dog stood in the open doorway to the bullpen wearing street clothes. Evidently, they too had been willing to sacrifice their day off.

Eddie stepped forward and jerked his head toward my office.

Nodding, I addressed the room again. "I know we have other ongoing investigations in need of attention, but until otherwise instructed, these murders take top priority. Get your orders from Rodriguez."

An immediate buzz followed my statement, and the inner workings of the bullpen went back to life. Satisfied I'd handled an awkward situation the best I could, I headed into my cubicle with three long-time friends on my heels.

Carl wasted no time. "What the fuck is going on, Joe? Is Stephanie okay? What about the babies?"

I hadn't seen Carl since Stephanie had referred in jest to their childhood "doctor" game earlier in the week. Had it been any other time, I would've jokingly given him hell for having seen my wife naked as a kid. Instead, all I felt was gratitude. Their presence served as a reminder I still had plenty of blessings in my life.

"They're doing okay."

"And Tony?" Eddie quickly added.

"Not so great."

"What the hell is going on? Nobody's talking up here?" Big Dog complained, referring to the not-so-subtle line between detectives and patrolmen.

I could've cared less about lines or distinctions. These were Steph's and my friends, and they deserved the truth no matter how much I hated going through the details _again_.

Five minutes later they were up-to-date.

"What can we do to help?" Eddie asked quietly. "There's got to be something."

"See Rodriguez. Maybe he has something for you," I suggested and then added in a softer tone, "And call Lenny, would you? He's pretty isolated up there with Mary Lou. He could use a friend."

"Will do."

"I have to get upstairs to meet with Rogers and then see Paul, if they'll let me."

Rodriguez appeared in the doorway, interrupting my train of thought.

"You want me to set up the interrogation rooms?" he asked in his typical straightforward manner.

"Thanks, but not until I've talked with Rogers. He upstairs?"

"Yeah—I'm not sure he went home last night."

"Did you?" I asked pointedly.

He shrugged. "I crashed in the lounge for a few hours. Stumpy did too. It was a fucking mess over at that warehouse. But we're all right. Rogers, on the other hand, has been like a bear in hibernation."

My eyebrows went up at his comment. _Now what the hell was my boss up to?_

Motioning toward the guys, I said, "They want to help, Manny. I'd appreciate it if you could find something for them to do."

"Good—we could use all the help we can get. Come on."

Big Dog and Carl slapped me on the back and followed Rodriguez out into the bullpen, while Eddie lingered.

"You sure Stephanie is okay?" he asked worriedly, concern for his childhood friend written all over his face.

"Barring any infection, she and the babies should be okay." _Please God, let that be true!_

"You call if you need _anything_—even if it's personal."

We both knew his last words were in reference to the sealed file still sitting on my desk. My father's death was _not _a subject I was prepared to discuss with anyone right then—except for Rogers. And I was _more _than ready for _that _conversation.

"I will. Thanks Eddie." Turning toward my desk, I found the file and picked it up as though it were a stick of dynamite.

It was time for answers.

Rogers' office area was empty when I got up there. Thankful for the absence of his secretary, 'Sherry the flirt', I knocked directly on the door.

"I _said _I didn't want to be bothered. Who is it?" Rogers' voice called out wearily through the door.

"Morelli."

"Oh."

_Silence._

"Come in."

Opening the door, the putrid odor of swamp hit my nostrils at full strength.

"_She's been shot! Jesus Christ, hurry up—she's been shot!"_

_Hang on, Cupcake!_

"_Joe—it's Tony. He's been shot!"_

"_Wake up, baby. Wake up so I can tell you how much I love you. How much I love all of you."_

"Morelli?" Rogers spoke my name in a quizzical tone.

_Stop it!_

Shaking myself from the memory of yesterday's terror, I took a good look at Trenton's Chief of Police, who was watching me expectantly.

He was slumped behind his desk, looking bedraggled and exhausted. Not having cleaned up after our trek through the swamp, his skin was still speckled with mud—his silver and black hair wind-whipped into disarray. With his dress shirt unbuttoned and rolled at the sleeves, he looked less like an administrator and more like a mad scientist who'd had one too many failed experiments.

For as long as I'd known Rogers, he'd always prided himself on having a polished appearance. Seeing him so disheveled was disconcerting.

"Close the door," he ordered in a low, dull voice and gestured with his hand toward one of the chairs in front of his desk. "You eat lunch yet? I could have something brought up—"

"I'm good," I said, staring at him in stunned confusion. I'd come prepared to fight with a grizzly bear and had found a mouse instead. "I grabbed something at the house when I went home to shower this morning."

"Good—good." He nodded his head nervously. "How's Stephanie? I called Mona when I got back here last night. We're both sick over what happened to her and the babies."

_Huh? _

_Who was this man? _

No wait—scratch that.

_This _was the man I'd always known Rogers to be—caring, intelligent—a 'cop's cop'. It wasn't until he'd been given the nod to lead the precinct as interim chief that his personality had changed. Having almost gotten used to his evolution into a political jerk, this Jekyll and Hyde switch back to being human was nothing short of bizarre.

I eyed him more closely. _Had he been drinking? _He looked sober—just despondent.

"She and the babies are stable. Her doctor's cautiously optimistic he'll be able to stem off infection."

"Good—good," he said again, picking up a pencil and tapping it against the blotter on his desktop. "And Tony?"

My brow furrowed. "I'm sure you've heard he made it through surgery. He lost a kidney, and he's on a ventilator."

"I did, and I'm sorry." The words were sincere, but Rogers' actions were that of someone who was about to jump out of his skin. _What the fuck was going on?_

I didn't need any more guessing games in my life.

An uncomfortable silence hung between us for one long minute, which was fifty-nine seconds longer than my patience could handle.

"You want to tell me what has you so shook up?" I asked in a flat voice. "Seems to me we don't have time for any bullshit between us—not with so much riding on the line right now."

Slouching even deeper into his chair, Rogers tented his fingers over his nose and spent several moments in silent contemplation. Just when I was about ready to kick him in the ass for wasting time, he opened them again and looked me straight in the eye.

"I'm sorry."

_Silence._

I barely managed, "For?"

He dropped his head back to stare up at the ceiling.

"Everything."

My heart began a slow jungle cadence. Everything in me wanted to walk out of his office and keep on going. The last thing I wanted was an apology.

I wanted answers.

"Everything encompasses a hell of a lot. Why don't you be more specific?"

"I don't know where to begin."

"Well you'd better begin _somewhere, _because I'm pretty friggin' short on patience right now."

"I'm sorry," he blurted again, shooting a beseeching look in my direction. "Sorry about how things went down yesterday. Sorry I've shown such poor leadership the last six weeks. Sorry for not trusting you."

The words were pouring from his mouth like vomit.

"I'm sorry for the bombshell dropped in your lap about what happened the night your father died. Sorry that—"

"Stop."

My hand flew up. The frustration I felt over my father's death back in full force.

"You need to fucking stop right now."

"I can't," he shook his head miserably. "Guilt is eating at me like a cancer. I feel like I've existed in a glass cube all these weeks—no _years_. I could see what needed to be done but didn't do it."

Bitter anger, which had become a second skin to me of late, surged through my system.

"What the hell kind of crap are you trying to pull now—?" I asked exasperatedly.

"I'm serious. I've been up all night thinking. Bud Reynolds stayed for awhile and helped me to see the lack of true leadership I've shown you men."

"But you _are _a leader?" I shot back angrily. "At least you were. You were one of the best leaders the TPD had. It's why I pushed so hard to have you made interim chief in the first place."

"I know—"

"I've wracked my brain senseless trying to figure out a reason for such a drastic change in you—other than your political desire to be made permanent chief. Is that it? Have you really allowed yourself to become that fucked up over a job?"

"You don't understand," he intoned morosely.

"Well, you'd better start _helping_ me to understand," I warned angrily, "because I'm _this _close to walking out that door, picking up my wife and heading as far out of Trenton and away from you and my family as possible. I'm done, Rogers. _Someone_ either needs to start coming clean with me, or I'm done!"

I had to take a breath—no two breaths. The pressure in my chest was immense—my blood pressure probably through the roof.

He looked at me in bemused wonderment. "Do you have any idea how fucking hard it's been to live with a secret for twenty-seven years?" he marveled. "_Twenty-seven_ goddamned years, Joe."

If anything, his words made me even more furious.

"Do _you_ have any idea how fucking hard it is to know twenty-seven years of my life have been a lie?" I threw back at him.

Despite my burning gut, my face managed to maintain a cold, steely gaze.

"Worse yet, can you possibly even begin to conceive what it feels like to wonder if you killed your own father?"

"Joe—no—"

"If you're looking for sympathy, you're sure as hell not going to find it from me," I emphasized callously. "Give me the goddamned truth."

Rogers' lips tightened at the rebuke. It took several moments, but his face eventually softened in remembrance.

"I was twenty-one years old. It was my _second_ week on the friggin' job. My badge was so new; I hadn't even had time to rub the sticker off of it. You remember what it felt like to be so green around the ears, Morelli?"

"Of course."

He acted as if I hadn't responded. "To only have your training at the academy to see you through the shit flying at you out of nowhere from the very first day. Christ, no training could possibly prepare you for what it's really like on the job."

I felt an unwelcome sense of camaraderie. God knew, I remembered how horrible it had been to be on the streets for the first time with zero idea of just how bad it really was out there.

His expression grew serious, his voice more cop-like.

"Jerry Spellman had been on the force for years. He was assigned as my trainer—my partner out of the academy."

My body felt like it'd been carved in granite; I was so still.

"From the get go I saw all kinds of action." He grimaced. "You know the drill. We were always short on officers, and we did what we had to do to keep the city running smoothly."

Still no response from me.

"I saw a lot of action—and fast. The day of your father's death was exceptionally fucked up. Several officers had called in sick. We'd finish one call and the next would already be waiting for us. It was overwhelming."

He paused to see my reaction to the picture he was painting. _Too bad. _He wasn't getting a goddamned thing from me.

"Two calls came in at the same time—one for a traffic accident and the one from Paul. We were near your address, so dispatch sent us to check on the domestic dispute."

Rogers' body language grew more uncomfortable.

"Spellman was aware of your father and his reputation. I later learned the whole department was aware of Rocco's hold over the TPD."

"Hold?"

He shrugged. "Apparently, the chief of police prior to Barlow—a man by the name of Gunger—was a real swinger and had a penchant for the ladies. He and your father ended up with the same hooker one night early in his career, and from that point on, Rocco owned Gunger."

"Owned. Owned how?"

"He used the threat of exposing Gunger's risqué lifestyle to get the TPD to disregard what went on in your home for _years_."

"What happened to Gunger?"

"Heart attack—died about four months prior to the day of your assault. Phil Barlow took over as chief of police. Barlow was a good cop and well aware of your father's alliance with Gunger—really the whole department had been aware from what Jerry told me."

"But did nothing about it," I spat.

Ignoring me, he continued, "Barlow was bound and determined to run a clean shop. He warned your father not to get violent, or he'd come after him. Rocco stayed fairly clean for a couple of months, but then, according to Jerry, the calls started coming back into the precinct again."

"And again _no one _did anything."

"I don't think anybody wanted to have to deal with Rocco—Barlow included. Everyone turned a blind eye—until that Saturday."

The thought of my father having the police in his hip pocket made me want to puke up the food I'd forced myself to eat before leaving the house.

"Go on," I somehow managed to get out through the grinding of my teeth.

"When Jerry and I got to your mother's place that Saturday, it was madness."

He shook his head regretfully.

"Paul and your sisters were beside themselves with fright; your mother was weeping over your body; Tony was slumped against the wall in an almost catatonic state and you—" He paused, closing his eyes against the memory. "You were lying there in a crumpled heap."

"Being pulverized will do that to you," I quipped sarcastically.

Rogers was deep in his memories, he hadn't even heard me.

"I'd never seen anything like it. I had to run back outside and get sick. The thought of a father having done that to his child—"

"How did you know it was my father who hurt me?" I interrupted in a hard voice. _Every_ detail was important. "I know he had a reputation, but—"

"No one else would have been strong enough to inflict the kind of damage he did to your body," he answered quietly. "You were lucky he didn't succeed in killing you. You certainly appeared dead to us."

The chief took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily.

"I thought your mother had lost her mind when she tried to take the fall for your father's death. Anybody with half a brain could see immediately what had happened. The bigger question in our minds was whether Tony killed him out of self-defense, a crime of passion or premeditated murder."

"I remember Tony saying my father tripped him, and that's how he was stabbed."

"It would've been difficult to prove. All I know is when Tony pulled down his pants and showed us the abuse _he'd _taken, I almost threw up again."

"My father was a monster," I said matter-of-factly, stifling the familiar feelings of fear.

"Yes, he was," Rogers agreed simply.

"What did you think when Barlow suggested you cover the whole thing up?"

"I didn't know _what _to think. Here I'd been on the force for _two _friggin' weeks, and already I was faced with a decision that could affect the rest of my career!"

"Why _did _you agree to it?" I challenged. "You took an oath to uphold the law. Why would you put yourself at risk like that? For that matter, why did my mother agree to it? Lying like that—"

"Don't be foolish, Morelli," he advised quietly. "You're a cop. You know how the system works. Looking at the mess that lay before us, there was no doubt in my mind, a jury would've convicted Tony of murder, despite the evidence of abuse."

"You don't _know _that—"

"The hell I don't! For Christ's sake, _you _of all people know how the justice system works. The prosecuting attorney would've manipulated the evidence to look as though Tony had a vendetta against your father—_especially_ given Tony's own reputation for drinking and fighting."

"But _you _didn't see it that way?"

"Not after seeing those bruises of his. He may have been somewhat of a hoodlum himself, but I couldn't live with the idea of him going to prison for a crime he may very well have committed in self-defense. And—"

His eyes glittered at the memory. "There was no denying the bond between the two of you. I couldn't imagine ripping Tony from you—_not _after what you'd just endured."

"So what? You all made the pact and went merrily on with your fucking lives?"

"Of course not! Not long after that day—maybe a month or so—Jerry was shot and killed in a routine traffic stop. Some kid high on coke got scared and trigger-happy."

"Barlow?"

"A couple of years after the incident, he moved out west. He died maybe a year and a half ago from cancer."

"I remember two paramedics there as well."

"They eventually moved on as well. Within five years, I was the only one left in Trenton who knew the truth about your father's death in addition to your family."

"Not _all _of my family, seeing as _I _was denied the truth," I accused sullenly.

Rogers opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

"Did you have any contact with my family after that Saturday?"

Putting his glasses back on, he shook his head.

"No. I intentionally stayed away. However, I _did_ keep tabs on all of you. It wasn't hard to hear about Tony and Paul through their various brushes with the law."

His gaze met mine. "I kept track of you in particular. You had your own years of foolishness back in high school, didn't you?"

"Don't you even dare try to psychoanalyze my life," I warned in a dangerous voice.

"Merely an observation."

"Yeah—right. You must've hated finding out I'd joined the police academy."

"I was nervous—yes—but goddamned proud at the same time. Here you'd been beaten to within an inch of your life as a kid, with some of the worst male role models possible, and _still _you wanted to do things right and become a cop."

I stubbornly remained silent.

"I guess I couldn't help but wonder if on some subconscious level you remembered the kindness we'd shown you. Did you?"

_Had I?_

"I don't know," I answered stiffly.

Rogers began to pace the small open area in his office.

"Over the years, I watched you go from a cocky beat cop to a goddamned talented detective. And all the while I anxiously wondered if and when you'd remember the past and my role in it."

"So you were scared."

"Hell yes, I was scared! My career was in constant jeopardy. There was no one else left from the pact—save your mother and me. All I could do was hope the sealed file stayed buried in the archives."

His pacing continued, until I grew nauseous from watching him roam.

"Stop moving," I ordered contentiously and watched him lean up against his desk instead.

"I'll be honest. When you shot Ziggy Kulesza and went FTA, I got worried. I thought maybe bad genes had prevailed, and you really _were_ just like your father and brothers."

"You didn't trust me."

Rogers exhaled loudly. "Even after you were cleared, there was always this little kernel of doubt in the back of my mind."

"Why did you become my supervisor? Was it to keep tabs on me?"

I hated recognizing the fact that Rogers knew so much about me all those years and had never said a word. It felt as though my whole life had been a façade.

"No—I promise you. You were assigned to me by one of the higher ups. At first I was terrified working in close proximity with me would cause you to remember. Once I realized you recalled nothing of the past, I grew even fonder of you. You're a brilliant detective, Morelli."

I snorted at his assessment. At that moment, I felt brilliantly stupid for not having figured any of this out sooner.

Rogers shook his head regretfully. "Then the shit with Mayor Bradley and Kennard hit."

_More Silence._

"How is it you weren't touched by all that?" I wondered suspiciously. "It seemed like _all _of the higher ups were in on it somehow."

Removing his glasses again, Rogers pressed the heel of his palm to his eye in a rare show of fatigue.

"From the time I made the pact with the others regarding your father's death, I made no secret of my plan to live by the book."

"You OCD too?" I fairly sneered.

He gave me a dirty look.

"I was nowhere near as legalistic or OCD as Brian Stampler, but there _was_ a clear code of honor I felt needed to be adhered to, and everyone around me knew I played clean. Because of it, I was left alone."

"And you had _no _knowledge of what was going on here in the department underneath your nose?"

It hit me how unlikely that seemed.

"I swear to you I didn't, Joe. I was too busy trying to further my own career. I've wanted to be chief of police ever since I watched Barlow do the right thing and cover up your father's murder."

"The _right_ thing. How do you have the balls to even say that to me? Look at the damage it caused—"

"It _was_ the right thing," he stressed. "Otherwise, you would've lost _two _fathers that day. Tony may not be perfect, but that boy loved you with his whole heart."

"And you _used _that love and allegiance to my family to try and get Tony to snare Paul this past week, despite outright knowing he wasn't personally involved with Meachum or Nagel."

My resentment ratcheted again. "Son of a bitch, you used it to test my loyalty to the precinct as well!"

"Detective Morelli!"

"Why did you push so hard for me to become a Lieutenant?" I exhorted impatiently, feeling as though I no longer had anything to lose.

For the second time in two months, I was questioning whether I could remain under Rogers' command or not. The first time was mostly my wondering if I could do the job any longer after the Kennard fiasco. Now it came down to trust—both his and mine.

"Was it to spy on me?" I badgered. "Hell, you'd already started the sting on Paul by then, right? You said it began right after Dorsey was killed and Myra volunteered to be an informant in exchange for immunity. Was all of this simply a way of manipulating me?"

My mouth couldn't keep up with the questions rapid firing from my brain.

"My asking you to be Lieutenant was _strictly _based on merit!" he denied hotly. "You'd just proven your loyalty to the TPD through the Kennard Case and deserved—"

"You were _rewarding_ my loyalty? What a fucking joke!"

Rising from my chair, I stood nose-to-nose with him.

"How many goddamned times in the past two weeks have I had to sit and listen to you _question_ my allegiance to the TPD? Your exact words at dinner last Thursday were to wonder if my loyalty ran to family or the badge."

"That's different—"

"No, it isn't. Which is it, Rogers? Do you trust me or not!"

"Sit down, detective," he spoke calmly, making me even more frustrated.

"Which is it?"

"Sit. Down. Detective!" he yelled in my face. "I am still your goddamned superior, and I command you to sit down."

Much like my mother had been with Angelina at the hospital, I was out of control. Pure discipline and training forced me to sit, but my attitude remained belligerent.

"Why the hell didn't you come clean with me about all of this when we met up here with the DA after Tony's prelim?" I challenged. "I _told _you about my childhood, and you pretended like you knew nothing about it. Your exact words were, 'I'm sorry about your past, Joe. I really am.'"

"I _am _sorry about your past."

"Stop it!" I shouted, pointing a finger at him. "Stop with the bullshit. You should've told me right then and there about your link to my family—"

He never flinched. "No, I shouldn't have. I took an oath—the same oath your whole family took to protect—"

"Why did you use Myra Flowers to set up Paul? Did you _know _he was a Narc for Newark?"

It felt as though I were on some sort of drug the way my mind raced from one question to the next. _So many goddamned secrets and lies!_

"No! _You _don't even know for certain he was a Narc," Rogers snapped in an annoyed tone. "He could very well be at the heart of this mess."

"We have Jackson downstairs in a cell, because he tried to murder my wife and brother. We _know _he's linked to Stampler, who set Paul up. Why is that so fucking hard for you to see?"

"Because of the evidence against him! _His_ watch—the one that belonged to Rocco—was found in Stephanie's apartment after Nagel was murdered. _His _lover, Myra Flowers, was killed shortly thereafter. _His _handwriting was all over the journal found in the suitcase with those drugs. _He _was seen running from the warehouse yesterday where Meachum, Malone, Gambino and Herrick were found shot to death. What the hell more do you want, Morelli? I _have _to consider him a suspect."

"The other day at Nagel's place you told me you believed Paul could be innocent."

"And I meant it. We have Nagel's journal indicating Stampler made visits to him at his house. But then again, Paul and Jessie are listed in there as well. There's _nothing _indicating Paul was an informant. He could just as easily have been working for Meachum."

"We need to find the missing contents of the "Morelli" file found in Stampler's office."

"There's no time left—"

"I want to see Paul," I interrupted coldly, changing tracks. I couldn't stomach one more of Rogers' accusations or excuses.

"Certainly," he agreed affably, while moving around his desk to sit down.

My eyes narrowed in distrust. The constant flip in his personality was irritating the hell out of me.

"That's it? No argument?"

"None." He ran a hand through his thinning hair. "You _need _to talk to Paul and help him understand how important it is that he cooperate fully."

I was incredulous. "You _really _think he killed all these people—despite the fact that Bulldog shot Tony yesterday and all the evidence we found at Nagel's."

"I have no idea what to believe anymore!" Rogers barked. "I've got a madman in one cell, who cold-bloodedly shot a man and threatened a pregnant woman. In another—"

"Threatened!" I was practically apoplectic. "He goddamned well almost _killed_ my wife and unborn children. He's as much of a monster as my fucking father!"

Rogers wisely ignored my outburst, knowing I was already out of control.

"I have a goddamned officer of the law who claims he has nothing to do with any of this, despite evidence to the contrary being found in a known drug dealer's home. And in yet another cell, I have your brother, who despite his heroics yesterday has copious amounts of evidence piling up against him."

"He's innocent."

"You'd like to think that—hell, I would to. I hate the thought of more pain and hardship coming your mother's way. That poor woman has endured enough without the humiliation of all this."

Feelers of guilt flirted with my conscience. I'd been so angry with my mother earlier at the hospital. I was _still_ angry with her.

Sprawling in my chair, I gave him a smoldering look. "What was all of this apology shit about anyway? You obviously have issues with trusting my brothers and me. You show no true remorse over the subterfuge used to hide my father's death and keep me in the dark. And in the midst of it all is your all-consuming desire to be the permanent chief of police."

My voice was void of feeling when I dropped my bombshell.

"I'm not certain I'm a good fit for the TPD any longer—"

"Shut the hell up, Morelli, would ya?" he ordered in irritation, giving a big Jersey eye roll for emphasis. "You're the best detective in this whole operation, and you and I both know it."

"I'm not looking for—"

"Have I made horrific mistakes with you? Yes. Was I allowing my own desire to be chief of police cloud my ability to actually lead? No question. Reynolds reminded me of that fact last night when we got back here."

My eyebrow rose in derision. "Did you tell _him _about the sealed file?"

Tilting his chair backward, he stared up at the ceiling. "I did in a weak moment. You scared the shit out of me at the Conroy place when you said you'd remembered. From that moment on, I was unable to think clearly. It's why I botched things up so badly in the swamp. The whole time I was trying to figure out what your breakthrough meant for my career."

"Your career," I echoed dully.

"I know! I know what you're thinking. But you have to understand I'd been running from the fear of exposure my whole career, and in one fucking moment all the escaping I'd tried to do caught up with me."

A shadow crossed his face.

"I wanted to be chief of police to do good things—for my men _and _for the citizens of Trenton. For better or worse, that day in your mother's garage defined my entire career. Because of Chief Barlow and you, I wanted to be a good leader—someone worthy of respect."

"Don't try to pin this on me—"

"It's true! In some inexplicable way, I've wanted to make you proud of me your whole career. I wanted you to see you chose the right path by becoming a cop. I wanted you to emulate _me._"

His eyes begged me to understand.

"I've lived in cowardly fear for twenty-seven years, battling a war between feeling unworthy of being chief and wanting it more than anything else in the world. As a result, I've undermined my own good intentions of being a dependable leader by allowing the desire to become permanent chief overshadow my ability to do the actual job."

"You were all that you wanted to be _before _being appointed interim chief."

"Bud Reynolds said the same thing. And he believes I _can_ be everything I was again if I deal with all this worry and guilt in my mind. I'm not so sure I agree."

"Me neither."

He blanched. "I have a lot of damage to undo—with you and the rest of the men—but I'm willing to try and prove to you I'm worthy of the job."

"It's too late."

_Wasn't it?_

He responded in a disappointed voice, "I hope not."

I didn't return the sentiment.

"I'm sorry, Joe—sincerely—and for so many things, but mostly that you believed for even one second you were the one to kill Rocco."

The muscles in my body ached from being rigid with anger for so long.

Rogers continued, "I know your emotions are raw right now, but I sincerely hope one day you'll be able to forgive me."

I handed him the sealed file still clutched in my hand. "Are you willing to open this?"

He held my penetrating stare with one equally as piercing before tossing the file onto his desktop.

"No."

My jaw set.

"The past needs to stay in the past—for everyone's sakes," he rushed on to say. "You know as well as I do that there's no statue of limitations on murder, Morelli."

My eyes flashed, but I managed to hold my tongue. He was a hard son of a bitch, and his answer had been nothing less than what I'd expected.

Standing, I looked down upon the man I'd held so much respect for through the years—one of the few men I'd considered a role model.

"Are you going to let me assist with the interrogations?"

His expression grew shuttered. "No. We have to do this by the book. I can't let you question your brother, and I don't want you anywhere near Stampler or Jackson. The last thing I need is another murder on my hands."

"I want Rodriguez and Davis to do it then," I responded tautly. "And I want to at least be able to observe."

"You are not in charge—"

"Rodriguez and Davis or I walk, and I won't be back."

He curled his lip, practically snarling out his own frustration. "Fine—permission granted. We'll begin in thirty minutes. That ought to give you enough time to meet with Paul."

He waited until I was almost to the door before adding, "Make certain he cooperates, Morelli. That's all I say. He _needs _to cooperate."

"What about Jessie—where is she?"

"In an empty office on the 2nd floor. Robin Russell is keeping an eye on her. I had a doctor sent over last night to give her an exam. She's fairly strung out from drug usage, but the doctor felt it was safe for her to remain here versus a hospital."

"Safe, but certainly not comfortable," I chastised. "She's not even in a room with a bed? She needs to be someplace secure where she can rest and recover. Have you questioned her yet?"

"No."

_Shit. _"Do you at least trust me to talk with her?"

I had no idea why I felt so worried about the teenage girl who'd helped to cause my family so much trouble. The fact was my brother had done a number on her. A sense of responsibility had me pushing my nose into a place where it neither belonged nor felt comfortable.

"I do trust you, Joe. But you're wasting your time, I'm afraid."

"Give me an hour with Paul and Jessie, and I'll be ready for those interrogations."

Without a word, I headed for the door, my stomach already churning in preparation for my next encounter. Dealing with my anger toward Rogers had been difficult enough. Facing my brother was a whole other level of stress that would require a side trip to my office for some Maalox first.

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

Standing outside Stephanie's room, I mentally prepared myself to check on her. I'd been up half the night—both wondering how she was fairing as well as pondering where that suspicious note on my front door had come from. As a result, I was feeling off my game. And yet, despite our short-term association, I felt loyalty and concern toward both Joe and Stephanie. There was no way I could have stayed away.

Knocking lightly on the door, I stepped inside to find Stephanie sound asleep and no sign of Joe. A middle-aged woman—presumably her mother—was seated in the chair next to the bed looking out the window pensively. Her head turned as the door opened.

_Wonderful. Yet another mother to deal with._

"Who are you?" the woman asked in a hoarse whisper. "Are you with the hospital? Only family is allowed."

I moved closer. "Are you Stephanie's mother?"

A slight frown marred her face. "Yes, I'm Helen Plum."

Putting on my best smile, I held out my hand. "I'm Dr. Cheryl Sullivan. I'm an independent psychologist who works in tandem with Dr. Hamilton, Stephanie's obstetrician. I was part of the team that went into the swamp yesterday to rescue her."

"Oh!" Mrs. Plum stood nervously. "Hello."

"Sit—please. I don't mean to disturb you—or Stephanie. I just wanted to see how she's doing today."

"I've been here since just before lunch. She managed some soup and had a piece of my pineapple upside down cake, but she's been asleep since then." Glancing at her watch, she nodded. "About forty-five minutes, I'd say."

She looked at me more closely as if I were a giant bug. "You say you're a psychologist?"

"Yes, but don't worry I don't bite," I quipped with a smile.

She didn't smile back.

"Why would they have needed a psychologist on the rescue team?" she inquired sharply.

"Mrs. Plum—"

"Cheryl?" Stephanie whispered hoarsely.

We both turned to see her eyes were opened. She was groggy, but awake—and looking anxious about seeing me standing beside her mother.

"Hey, Stephanie. Sorry if I woke you," I apologized quickly. "I just wanted to touch base. How are you feeling today?"

She swiveled her gaze uncomfortably between Mrs. Plum and me.

"Mom—could you go ask the nurse if it'd be okay for me to have some tea?" she requested pensively.

"_Tea_?" Mrs. Plum stared at her as if she were crazy. "You _hate _tea."

Stephanie became flustered. "I—I know. I think it must be some sort of pregnancy deal, because I've been drinking it cold for weeks now. But for some reason, a cup of hot tea sounds good right now. Please?"

Mrs. Plum eyed me suspiciously. Probably wondering what I'd do to her daughter if she left the room.

"All right, if that's what you want," she acquiesced reluctantly. "I'll be _right _back."

Giving me another hard look, she left the room.

"Joe's not here."

"No problem," I responded, remaining at ease with my demeanor. "I came to check on you as much as him."

"Check on?"

"To see how you're feeling."

"Physically—or mentally."

"Whichever you want." I remained frozen, while I tried to feel out her attitude.

Peering at me as though she were trying to do the same, she offered hesitantly, "Have a seat."

"You sure?"

She nodded, and I made my way around the side of the bed to the chair vacated by Mrs. Plum.

Still searching for something to assure her I wasn't there to dissect her brain, it startled me when she blurted, "Thank you, Cheryl."

Sitting down, I didn't even bother to pretend I didn't know to what she was referring. The nightmare of the swamp was too fresh in both our minds.

"You're welcome."

"I was pretty out of it, but I do remember hearing your voice. Joe told me you were there."

"You were in terrible shape. It's almost miraculous how good you look today."

She rolled her eyes. "Do they teach you to lie in shrink school?"

I snorted out a laugh. "Among other things—but it's true. You look like a super model compared to last night."

"I suppose," she agreed, clearing her throat. Reaching for a Kleenex on the side of the bed, she added, "I still have a fever, and I think I'm catching a cold, but so far the lungs are clear."

"It'd be a miracle if you didn't have some sort of illness. Getting dragged through a swamp with no shoes—"

"I lost them in the quicksand," she said bluntly, and my heart stopped for a moment.

"You stepped in quicksand?"

"Yeah. Bulldog pulled me clear out of my boots getting me out. I collapsed afterward, and he dragged me the rest of the way to the trailer."

Her voice sounded detached, but I could see residual terror in her eyes. Immediately shifting into professional mode, I leaned closer.

"That had to have been a horrifying experience. I'm sorry for what you had to endure."

She lifted one shoulder, trying to appear unaffected, but a single tear managed to slip down her cheek.

"I'm okay."

"Are you?"

"I'm here, aren't I? Safe in the hospital, and the babies seem to be okay too. Not like Tony—or P—Paul. Both of them are—are in—" Her voice trembled and then broke.

"Stephanie, do you feel responsible for Tony's injury?" I asked pointblank.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

_Shit. Why couldn't I just keep my feelings and concerns stuffed down deep where they needed to stay? _The last thing anyone needed—particularly Joe—was my getting emotional.

"I don't remember much about last night," I admitted, fingering the edge of the blanket covering me, "but I do remember Joe's brothers finding me in the trailer. They could've easily abandoned me, and yet they didn't. Paul went for help, and Tony stayed to watch over me. They both came to Joe's aid, and in the process Tony was shot. Now Paul's been arrested—"

"Which he would've been anyway," Cheryl observed calmly. "You're not responsible for the choices either of them made prior to last night's showdown."

"I know _that,_" I retorted irritably. At least my head did. My heart was feeling otherwise_._ "I'm just saying Joe has enough to deal with regarding his family. He doesn't need the additional strain."

"Let's not worry about Joe for a minute. I'm more concerned about you."

_Oh Jeez—time to stop talking before she tried to crawl into my head_. "I'm fine."

"No—I don't think you are," she challenged. "Come on, Stephanie. It's just you and me. What's really eating at you?"

"I _said _I'm fine."

She stood. "Well good—I'm glad to hear it. I better let you get back to resting—"

_She was leaving? _I'll be damned if that didn't make me feel even more anxious.

"Is this conversation on or off the record?" I hedged.

She gave me an impudent look. "I'm a counselor, Stephanie—not a friggin' tabloid reporter."

"You know what I mean. Is this just between us?"

"Of course."

"You won't tell Joe?"

Sensing my discomfort, she spoke assuredly. "Whatever you tell me is between us. You have my word."

"Sit down."

Without a word, she obeyed my command, and the silence between us grew uncomfortably long. I kept waiting for her to ask me probing questions or some other kind of clinical nonsense, but she refused to speak.

_Was this part of her shtick_? _Didn't she understand I hadn't been raised to share emotions? Didn't she know I needed her to push at me until I finally capitulated? Didn't she—"_

"I'm scared," I confessed in a rush.

_Oh. My. God. _

_Had I actually spoken those words aloud?_

There was a beat of silence.

"About?"

_Shit—I HAD said them aloud!_

Worse yet—my voice hitched when I answered, "E-e—everything."

"Clarify everything."

My brain screamed at me to stop, but my mouth seemed to have other ideas. Taking a deep breath, I raced through my options. I could continue to try and deal with these feelings I'd been bottling up since discovering I was pregnant two weeks ago and seeing the look of betrayal on Joe's face. In the process, the anxiety over pretending I was okay in order to save Joe from further stress might affect the babies or me, which opened a whole other can of fears.

Or, I could be honest with this woman, who'd already proven to be trustworthy and discreet in her dealings with my husband, and perhaps free myself from this nagging sense of guilt and unworthiness.

I chose freedom.

"Bulldog, the babies, this pregnancy, Joe's family, my family, what I'm going to do with myself now that I can't do skip tracing, what's going to happen with Tony and Paul, how it's going to affect Joe—"

She grabbed on to that last one. "How do you _think_ it's going to affect Joe?"

My voice shook. "I don't know. He's s-s—so angry."

"At you?"

"No! Not at me. He's been utterly and completely amazing to me."

_So utterly and completely amazing…_

"Because he loves you—with a depth I've never seen in my lifetime."

"But he shouldn't!"

"Can you tell me why you feel that way?"

_What the hell—was she dense?_

"Don't pull this psychobabble bullshit with me," I snapped, my voice thick with unshed emotion. "I know Joe shared with you about our past. Which part of it didn't you understand? The part where I lied to him for almost two years? The part where I betrayed him? The part where I almost lost him because of my treachery?"

The guilt and grief I'd continued to feel despite Joe's forgiveness clawed at my throat, desperately wanting to escape the prison I'd built in order to not upset or disappoint him further.

The first tears began to fall.

"I'm sorry—"I managed. "I don't know what's the matter with me. I don't mean to get so emotional—"

"Stop—" Cheryl ordered softly. "You went through a hellish ordeal yesterday. I'd be more concerned if you _weren't _emotional."

I thought of Bulldog and what he'd done to me.

"Being taken by him was the scariest thing that's ever happened to me," I admitted, my voice sounding croaky to my ears. "And believe me—when I did skip tracing, some truly horrible things happened."

"Tell me more about what he did," she urged.

I met her concerned gaze, finally allowing her to see into my soul.

"It's not that I don't want to talk about it, but the truth is I'm more scared about my relationship with Joe than I am about any residual trauma from yesterday."

Cheryl looked perplexed. "I'm not sure I understand. From what I've witnessed, your marriage seems strong."

"Joe's been incredibly forgiving," I acknowledged, guilt once again piercing my heart. "Even _before_ we knew if the babies were his or not, he offered me his forgiveness."

"Because he _loves_ you," she stressed again.

Her words broke what was left of the fragile hold I had on my composure.

"But everything's happened so fast in the past six weeks—our commitment to one another, his proposal, our whirlwind wedding and honeymoon, finding out about the pregnancy, the paternity test, this mess with his family—"

"What are you really afraid of, Stephanie?"

Studying her, I could see she was willing me to see her as trustworthy.

"Joe is so angry about the lies and the secrecy," I whispered, swiping at my eyes. "In fact he was angry with me earlier this morning. I called him Joseph, which is what his mother calls him. For some reason that one word made him lose his temper."

"Was his anger directed toward you, or was it really aimed at his mother?"

Her question brought me up short. Recalling the moment, I had to admit that while he had been frustrated by my stubbornness, he'd been more upset over his encounter with his family.

"I guess it was more his mother. He feels like he's been deceived his whole life by everyone who means anything to him. But don't you see? That includes me too."

A small sob escaped. "_I_ was one of those who betrayed him, Cheryl, and I can't seem to forgive myself."

The realization broke down the wall of emotion I'd tried to hold back, releasing my tears in full force.

Cheryl stood in concern and wrapped her arms around me.

"It's okay to let it out, Stephanie. I can see you've held these feelings in for too long already."

After several minutes of uncontrollable bawling, I finally was able to gain some semblance of composure.

"I'm sorry," I apologized weakly, reaching for another tissue. "I hate when I do that."

"Don't apologize," she said firmly, giving me one last hug before sitting down onto the bed next to me. "Believe me, you more than earned that cry. But I need you to stop now and try to consider something for a moment."

I hiccupped. "What?"

"Do you truly believe Joe _wants_ you to keep feeling guilty?"

My response was immediate and filled with frustration. "No—just the opposite! He gets mad at me when I try to bring up anything that reminds him of my former behavior. He says he's forgiven me and wants to move on with our lives—with our family."

"But?"

"But I can't seem to do it!" I cried out exasperatedly. "I try to be loving and supportive, yet whenever he's talking to me about his feelings of betrayal toward his family, I'm worried half to death those feelings are going to trigger the resentment he felt toward _me_! What if deep down he really _does _still have bitter feelings he simply doesn't want to face? What if he decides he can't trust me again—?"

"Do you plan on giving him any reason not to trust you?"

There was no doubt her question was referring to Ranger.

"If you're asking whether or not I plan to be involved with Ranger either sexually or emotionally, the answer is 'no'," I spit out, humiliated she'd even had to ask the question.

_Would I ever be free from the shame of my former actions?_

"Then wouldn't it make sense to stop worrying and trust your husband's words and actions? He's said he's forgiven you. Is _he _known for being a liar?"

"Stop trying to trap me!"

"I'm merely asking a question," she countered.

"No you're not. You're being all shrink-like!"

"Isn't that why you wanted to talk with me?"

_Wasn't it? _Deep down didn't I want _someone _to give me absolution for my sins?

"No—yes—hell, I don't know!" I sputtered. "I don't know anything anymore. My whole life has been upended in the past two months. It'll never be the same again!"

"No, it won't," she agreed bluntly.

We sat there in silence, and I berated myself for having brought any of this up with her. Yet there was still one deep-seated fear begging to be confessed.

Forcing myself to look her in the eye, my voice grew ragged and breathy again.

"He's been so good to me, Cheryl—for years. And I t-t—took it for granted. Despite how good things are supposed to be between us, I'm scared to death he's going to wake up one day and decide once and for all I'm not w—worth the effort. What if he sees I have no idea how to be a good wife and mother? What if he l-l—leaves me and takes the kids?"

I closed my eyes against the ripping pain the mere thought brought me.

Cheryl inhaled sharply. "Oh Stephanie—no. That simply isn't true. You're absolutely right that Joe has a lot of anger and resentment right now. He _has _been betrayed by a lot of people—his family, his boss—and—yes—you too. However—"

She paused—until I opened my eyes. She wanted to make certain I was truly listening.

"There's no doubt in my mind Joe has forgiven you. And the reason why he has is because you've _asked_ for his forgiveness. You came clean with him about the past, worked through your issues and now _you _are the rock that's holding him together right now. As far as he's concerned, it's a clean slate."

"But—"

"No buts," she stressed firmly. "Joe needs to know your relationship is rock solid and that he can count on you, because every other area of his life is now completely fucked up."

_Omigod—had she just used the mother of all curse words in the midst of counseling me? _

Whatever tears were left stopped abruptly, and my eyes widened comically.

"Are you allowed to say 'fucked up'?"

She barked out a laugh. "I'm not a priest, Stephanie."

"I _know_ that—"

"Joe is going to need you now more than ever," she responded firmly. "You're going to need _each other_. There are going to be some incredibly dark days ahead—regardless of what happens with Tony and Paul. _You_ have your own trauma to come to grips with, and Joe is going to have to confront his mother. Both are going to be huge."

_Too huge. _

"They're really close," I sniffed, choosing not to focus on my own recovery. "Joe and his mom."

"I can imagine."

Sinking deeper into the pillows, I felt exhaustion wanting to overtake me.

"His grandmother told me recently I was going to have to be his light to help him through the darkness," I confided, still not knowing what to make of Bella's prediction.

Cheryl cleared her throat. "Despite her scary appearance, she sounds like a wise woman."

I couldn't help but smile. She'd obviously met Bella.

"She's a nutcase, but she has the eye."

"What exactly _is_ 'the eye'?" she asked curiously.

"She has the ability to see things—kind of like fortune telling."

"Oh?"

"Joe thinks it's bunk, but she's been right about so many things." I bit her lip again. "She only saw one baby."

"I beg your pardon?"

"She knew I was pregnant and announced it to our families before I did. But she only saw one baby. The whole thing scares me. Do you think—?"

"_I_ think you should concentrate on what you can and leave the rest up to God."

"I thought you said you weren't a priest?"

She sniggered. "Stephanie, Joe loves you. You made it through yesterday's nightmare and protected your babies in the process. Concentrate on that and the life you want to build with Joe. You are _not _the same person you were six months, six weeks, six days ago—hell—even six hours ago."

"No, I'm not," I agreed quietly.

I was Stephanie Morelli now. _Why had I been so afraid of that?_

"Let the past go. Trust in Joe. The more you do, the more he can trust in you," she advised.

Brushing the last of my tears away, I nodded, joking weakly, "Thanks. How much do I owe you?"

"I'll add it to the Morelli account," she shot back in jest.

Standing, Cheryl reached for my hand. "I'm looking out for Joe too, you know. I'll help you both get through this."

I nodded, my eyes glistening. "Thank you. And thanks again for last night."

"You're welcome. Now you need to rest. I'll just—"

The door burst open and my mother came in followed reluctantly by a decidedly uncomfortable Ranger.

"Look who I found down at the nurse's station," she announced, her eyebrows arched with disproval. "I _told_ him visitation was limited to family—"

_Shit—just what I needed—conflict between my mother and my former lover._

She saw my tear-streaked face and freaked. "Why are you crying? What's happened?" She turned and glared at Cheryl. "What have you done to her?"

"She hasn't done anything, Mom," I said tiredly. "I'm fine, and it's okay for Ranger to be here too. Joe put him on the approved visitor's list."

"_Joseph _did!"

Ranger also looked concerned over the tears. "I'll come back another time."

"Yes, that would be best," my mother agreed, clearly flustered about Ranger's presence.

"It's okay," I assured him. _Why was I so nervous?_ "Mom, why don't you go on home? You'll need to get supper started for Dad soon and—"

"I'm _not _leaving you here with—"

"Mom," my voice was low in warning. "I'll _call_ you later."

"Yes, you will," Mom agreed, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Apparently we have a lot to catch up on."

Bless Cheryl! Trying to break the awkward moment, she held out her hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Plum."

My mother's scowl became more pronounced. "Good-bye, Dr. Sullivan." Turning, she extended the same glare to Ranger. "_Mr. _Manoso."

"Mrs. Plum," he responded, one corner of his mouth lifting in subtle amusement.

She practically flounced out of the room, leaving Ranger, Cheryl and I looking at one another self-consciously. No—actually _neither _of them was looking at me but at each other. _Hunh. What was up with that?_

"Cheryl, you obviously worked with Ranger too yesterday, right? I don't need to reintroduce you—"

Her honey-colored hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail so that much of her face and neck were exposed, and both were beet red.

"Ranger and I have become acquainted—yes," she said sardonically. To him, she added stiffly, "Thank you for arranging for your men to bring my car to the hospital last night."

"I was told you left before they could follow you home," he answered somewhat coolly.

I could tell he was perturbed, which surprised me. Even more curious was her response.

"I don't do well with people watching my every move. Thanks anyway."

"It's not watching your every move. It's about safety, and that was foolish—"

"I've been taking care of myself for a long time now, Army Boy. Save your resources for people in real need—"

The tension in the room soared exponentially.

"You know, you're a real piece of work," Ranger said derogatorily, taking a step toward her. "The way you worm your way into people's heads is just fucking creepy."

_Whoa. _It wasn't often Ranger lost his cool so quickly.

"_I'm _a piece of work? _You _are by far the most arrogant man I've ever met. You have no idea who I am or what I'm capable of, and you've somehow pigeonholed me into the role of some sort of helpless female. Well, I'm sorry if I don't fit your cookie-cutter mold, but—"

"Right—Air Force—I forgot." He never moved a muscle but his tone was clearly sarcastic. "I imagine you saw lots of action poking around in people's heads, huh Zoomie."

_Zoomie?_

_What the hell was going on here? Had something happened in the swamp I wasn't aware of?_

Cheryl opened her mouth to blast him, when suddenly she saw me staring at them both. Snapping her jaw shut, she turned to me.

"Tell Joe I'm sorry I missed him," she announced in a clipped voice. "If he needs me, tell him to call."

"_Okay_…" I drawled, one eyebrow raised. "Don't feel as though you have to run off."

"No, it's fine. I'm sure you and Ranger need to talk. Besides—I'm not certain there's enough air in the room to sustain us all. Someone's big head requires quite a bit of oxygen, I'm sure."

Easing her way around Ranger, she headed for the door.

"Cheryl—wait," I called out softly.

She tossed a glance over her shoulder, purposefully avoiding Ranger's assessing gaze.

"Thanks again."

The smile she shot me was dazzling. "You're welcome. Get some rest." Her eyes skimmed over Ranger. "Manoso."

Without waiting for an answer, she let the door swing shut behind her.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Morelli—good to see you, man."

"You too, Charlie."

"You headin' in, I suppose?" he asked, jerking his head toward the door behind him. It led to the hallway that housed the various cells for the precinct.

"Yeah. Rogers is cool with it."

The older black man nodded his curly gray head. Charlie Jackson had been a fixture as the chief guard for the TPD since before I'd been born.

"Heard you had some trouble yesterday. Glad to hear your wife is doin' okay, but I'm sorry about your brother—well, both your brothers really."

"Thanks," I acknowledged, grateful the gossip mill had made its way through the precinct, so I didn't have to go through everything again. "How's Paul."

"Gettiin' panicky. I've got him, Stampler and Jackson all in separate cells. Couldn't keep 'em in holdin' cells any longer. It was takin' too long upstairs. They can't see one another, but you know that don't prevent them from talkin'."

"Talking?"

"That Jackson—he be a loud one for shore. Been harassing your brother all night. I tell 'em to shut up, but he keeps right on."

"What about Stampler? What's he been doing?"

Charlie shrugged. "Not much. Looks to me like he spendin' his time plottin' his way out of here, if you ask me."

Interesting.

"Okay, thanks, Charlie. I appreciate the heads up."

"You want to take your brother down the hall to a private room, so no one hears you?"

"That'd be fine. Thanks again."

Charlie unlocked the door and led me down the hallway past the three large holding cells. He was right. They were all filled to the brim with any number of crackheads, wife beaters and thieves. All of them would need to be transferred to the county jail on Monday when they could be arraigned by a judge.

We passed Stampler's cell. Upon seeing me, he stood, moving toward the bars. "Get me the fuck out of here, Morelli, before your career is in the shitter. I'm an innocent cop, and you goddamned well know it!"

"Save it for the interrogation room," I called back, never breaking stride.

I hadn't even made it to Jackson's cell when his grating voice shouted, "That you, Morelli? How's that pregnant bitch of yours? Or that brother—he dead yet?"

"Don't you be stoppin', Morelli," Charlie's voice prodded from behind me. "You just keep on walkin', ya hear?"

Eyes straight ahead, I moved into Jackson's line of sight.

"There you are—you coward. Where the hell have you been? Why haven't we been arraigned yet?"

Charlie retorted, "Hush your mouth—now. You know good and well the court's shut down until Monday."

"I'm suing you and this department, Morelli. Got that? My leg's been exposed to all kinds of infection in this hellhole, and you're all going down."

He was leaning heavily with one arm on the bars of the cell, eyes boring into mine. His free hand lazily scratched at his bare belly.

"Keep movin', Detective," Charlie pushed me subtlety, and reluctantly I moved to do so.

I hadn't taken a step when Bulldog taunted, "I should've killed them babies when I had the chance."

My hands were between the bars and around his throat before any of us had a chance to blink.

Charlie yanked at my shoulders ineffectively. "Morelli—move it!"

"Mention my wife and kids again, and I'll kill you, Jackson. You're dead already—"

Bulldog had his hands wrapped around my wrists, trying to pry my hands off of him to no avail. Tighter and tighter I squeezed, glorying in the idea of squashing the life out of the evil bastard.

"Should—have—killed—them," he repeated, gasping for air.

"Detective Morelli—I said move your ass now—or I'll call for Rogers!" Charlie shouted in my ear.

My hands dropped away, and Jackson staggered to the cot in the cell, clutching at his throat.

"I'll sue you for police brutality too," he managed to choke.

"You do that," I said dismissively. "You'll have plenty of time to put your case together when you're rotting in prison for the rest of your miserable, godforsaken existence, you sick bastard."

"You have no idea who you're up against, Morelli."

I opened my mouth to respond.

"Don't be a fool," Charlie hissed in my ear. "Keep those hawk-like eyes of yours on the prize and nothin' less."

Ignoring them both, I whipped around and went the additional ten feet until I was in front of Paul's cell. He too was waiting by the door to the cell, only, unlike Bulldog, he was looking desperate. I put my finger to my mouth to silence him until we could be alone.

Charlie stepped forward and unlocked the cell. "Come on, Morelli. Let's go."

Without words, we moved to the end of the hallway to a small interrogation room—one without observation mirrors. Charlie waited until Paul and I were inside before addressing me from the doorway. "I'll be right out here if you need me."

"Thanks, Charlie."

No sooner had the door shut, than Paul was all over me.

"Jesus Christ, Joey—where've you been? How's Tony? And Stephanie? Fuck, I've been dying here, man."

At his selfish words, the intense fury I felt over my encounter with Bulldog was unleashed. Slamming my brother against the wall of the room, I shoved my forearm up against his throat.

"You're not dying," I shot back, already annoyed. "Tony _may _be dying, but you certainly are _not _dying. Jesus, do either of you think about anyone other than yourselves!"

His voice sounded strangled. "I just did. I asked—"

"Shut the fuck up, Paul! I'm sick to death of you—Tony too." My clenched fist ached to be released into his face. I resorted to pushing harder against his windpipe. "Do you realize that because of _you _my wife and kids may very well have been killed last night!"

He gasped. "I'm sorry—"

"No! I don't _want _your apologies or your fucking excuses anymore! It's too late!"

Paul managed to get his hands on my chest and shoved me backward. "Ease up—Joe!"

His words were like waving a red flag at a bull—and I charged forward, catching him around the waist. We tumbled against the table, and the chairs went flying. My fist connected with his jaw, but not before he managed to land a blow on my cheek. The pain only seemed to invigorate us further.

The door opened and Charlie burst into the room. "What the hell—Detective Morelli!"

His rebuke snapped me from the crazed frenzy I'd allowed my mind to enter into. Quickly getting to my feet, I stared down at Paul, who was still draped over the table. Part of me was appalled at my behavior—and the other was almost proud I'd finally allowed myself to release some of the relentless frustration I'd felt for weeks.

Paul heaved himself up as well, all the while rubbing his jaw and glowering at me.

"Either you get yourselves under control—now—or I'm terminating this consult. You got me, Morelli?"

Disgusted with the situation and myself, I moved to the other side of the room and ran a hand through my hair, while Paul caught his breath. After a moment, Charlie closed the door, seemingly satisfied we were back in control.

Paul stared at me, his personal agony evident. "Tony—he's bad?"

"Very. They've got him on a ventilator. He lost a kidney."

His face paled. "Oh Shit—no. And Steph and the babies?"

"They're stable—no fucking thanks to you."

I stopped, knowing that wasn't the truth. _Both _of my brothers had been there for me when it'd counted in the swamp. Guilt again mixed with rage in a toxic and potent attack on my system.

"I'm so sorry, Joe—so sorry you've been touched by this mess. We tried to keep it from you—"

"Shut up, Paul." My voice sounded cold and dead to my own ears. "Listen to me. You are in so deep right now, I'm not sure there's anything I _can _do to help you. Rogers has evidence piled up against you and _nothing _concrete to help absolve you."

"But I didn't do anything. I swear, Joe—I didn't kill anyone. I was hired by Stampler—"

"Save it for the interrogation."

"Will you be there?" he asked hopefully.

"No. It's a conflict of interest. But I'll be watching." I eyed him closely. "I'm going to go talk with Jessie right now to see what she may know."

"Be gentle with her, will ya? She's just a kid—"

"Goddamn it, Paul—if you'd given a little more consideration to your own wife and kids, you wouldn't be in this fucking mess. Do you even care about them?"

"Of course I do," he shot back angrily, dragging his hand through his long hair—so like mine—and pacing about the small room. "I love Adrienne and the kids. One thing has nothing to do with the other."

"How can you say that with a straight face?" I wondered incredulously.

"You don't understand—"

"I understand you make me sick!" I spat. "Both you and Tony make me physically ill with your justifications and your pathetic excuses. Why can't you see you already have beautiful women who love you? Why do you refuse to be there for _them_ and your kids?"

"We _are _there for them, and we've been there for you too," he reminded me coldly. "Today—these past two weeks—your whole goddamned life? We've _always _been there for you, Joey. You have no fucking idea—"

"No, I don't a fucking idea, because you refuse to treat me as an adult—a goddamned cop, for Christ's sake!" I shot back. "But why not tell me now, Paul. Tell me the truth about the night Tony killed Rocco. I've already remembered it on my own, and I've heard Rogers' version, but—"

Paul looked at me in confusion.

I snorted. "You too? You mean to tell me you didn't know Rogers was there that day? Well he was, and he spun quite a tale for me just now upstairs. But it's you and Tony I want to hear from. If you care about me as much as you say you do, start talking—now and in the interrogation room. If not, good luck to you."

"Joey? This is crazy talk. Stop—"

"It's the point of no return, Paul. The choice is yours."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

Silence hung between Stephanie and me following Cheryl's departure.

"What the hell was _that_?" Stephanie asked bemusedly.

"What was what?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, I walked around the side of the bed and took a seat on the chair placed there.

"The blast of heat that just swept between the two of you." She gave me a look to show she knew the shrug had been a little _too _nonchalant.

Time for some damage control.

"No heat. That would require emotion. She's a shrink, Babe. They don't have emotions."

_Ah Shit! _I'd called her Babe again. While my face instinctively winced, inside I was ticked. _How was I supposed to keep track of all these new goddamned rules? _

Stephanie frowned.

"Sorry. Reflex," I apologized brusquely.

I needed to get this visit back on track—and fast. Leaning forward, I dangled my hands between my legs and observed her.

I couldn't believe it when I'd walked into the room with Mrs. Plum to find the woman I loved hooked up to so many wires and machines. In my eyes, she looked only slightly better than the night before. Her face was pale with dark circles beneath her eyes. Beside her, the fetal monitor exuded two swishing pulses, and the sounds were like twin fists wrapped around my heart.

_They could've been mine._

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I knew this would have to be a short visit. Stephanie was ready to crash, and I was nowhere near over my grief of losing her and the babies.

"How are you doing?" I forced myself to ask.

"Tired," she admitted. "You must be too. That was quite a day yesterday for all of us. How are Tank and Lula?"

"Not sure. I had business to attend to this morning. I haven't talked to either of them."

"Joe told me about Lula's heroics yesterday. I can hardly believe it."

I couldn't help but emit a small smile. "Me neither. As much as it pains me to admit, she's the real deal—or at least she will be with continued training."

"Are you going to?"

"What?"

"Keep training her?" she asked, struggling to keep the envy out of her voice.

"I got some stuff in mind."

"Stuff meaning?"

"Meaning stuff."

She gave a low growl of frustration. _Jesus—what did she want from me?_

"Where's your husband?" I wondered casually.

"At the precinct."

"I'm surprised he left you."

"Don't start," she warned.

I held up my hands. "I'm not starting anything. He was a friggin' mess yesterday. I simply find it hard to believe he left your side."

She sighed wearily. "Joe told me he shared with you about his flashback yesterday and about his traumatic childhood. I'm indebted to you for helping him—and me."

My eyes never broke contact with hers. "I didn't do it for him."

Her eyebrow went up again. "Oh really? I find that hard to believe. I think you did it for us both."

If she thought I was about to admit my admiration for Morelli's integrity or willingness to sacrifice his own life for her, she was wrong. Enough was enough.

"He loves you."

_Shit. _The words escaped before I could stop them.

Her face was serious. "Yes, he does—and I love him even more."

I studied her closely. _Why did I persist in searching for doubt?_

There was none.

There never would be again.

I hadn't really expected her to change her mind, but mine couldn't seem to let go of the dream of her—one more reason why I needed to get the hell out of town. I needed time to purge myself of this obsession I held for Stephanie.

My shoulder went up in a half-shrug. "Morelli's been through hell—both yesterday and as a child. It's bound to get worse." I gestured toward her stomach. "You strong enough to handle it?"

Her fingers brushed protectively over her stomach. "We'll get through it together."

"He's a lucky man."

"No, I'm the lucky one," she contradicted in a strong, clear tone.

_Goddamn it. Didn't she have any compassion for how I was aching inside?_

"You'll never know how hard it was for me to step back and allow others to do what I wanted for you." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to retract them. _Desperation didn't go well with the rest of my controlled persona._

She flushed. "I appreciate the fact you still care for me. The feeling is mutual."

"It's more than _care_, Stephanie," I said angrily. "Do you have any fucking idea what it was like to see Jackson's hands on you last night with a gun to your stomach? _I _wanted to kill him."

"I know," she smiled understandingly. "This is hard for you too. For me too. Things have changed so fast for all of us, and it's been a difficult transition."

"I'm leaving for Miami first thing Monday morning."

_Shit, I hadn't meant to blurt it out so coldly. _If friendship was all I could have with her, so be it, but I needed _something. _Hurting her wasn't going to help our tenuous camaraderie any.

"You are?" she asked curiously.

I quickly added, "To see about the business opportunity I told you about at lunch the other day."

"Oh. How long will you be gone?"

"However long it takes."

She growled low in her throat, and I relented slightly, "A few weeks at least. I want to try and see Julie."

"That's good, Ranger." She smiled then. "Really good. Call me once in awhile, okay?"

"You mean that?" I questioned, surprised at the hopeful tone to my voice.

"Of course."

"Think your husband will be okay with it?"

Her eyebrow cocked again. "Did he not put your name on the restricted visiting list?"

My head dipped in acknowledgement. "I was actually hoping he'd be here. I wanted to talk to you both."

"About your payment," she assumed.

"Right."

She looked slightly disappointed in me. _What had she expected—that I'd go through the hell of the past week for nothing?_

"You can tell me the price, and I'll let him know," she muttered glumly.

"I'd prefer to do it in person."

"Well, I can't guarantee when that'll be. He's being stretched in a hundred different directions right now."

"How can he put anything ahead of you—?"

"Don't start, Ranger!"

"Fine!" I huffed disgustedly.

Silence hung between us again.

"What's the price?" she wondered irritably. Upon closer examination, I could see she was getting really tired.

Now was not the time for any of this.

"It'll keep. I'll try to come back tomorrow—"

"Tell me now."

"Forget it, Eliza. You need to rest."

"Tell. Me. Now."

"No."

"Goddamn it, Ranger. I'm an extremely hormonal woman who almost lost everything yesterday. Tell me now, or I won't be held responsible—"

"You."

"—for what I do," she continued exasperatedly. "Would you just tell me already!"

"I just did."

"Wait—what?"

"You. The price is you."


	25. Chapter 25

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Happy Friday! Wow, I haven't said that in a long time. Hope you all had a good week.

My fabulous Beta reader Julie rocked it out again for me this chapter with some equally potent assistance from the amazing Kimdle. Ladies, you darn well know I was about ready to throw in the towel this week. Thank you both for helping me to 'keep on keeping on'! Your friendship has made every second of angst worth it.

You readers have been amazing as well. I've had more fun getting to know all who've taken the time to leave me feedback. Such truly incredible people! Thanks so much for the continued support. Still not finished yet, but we're at least in the home stretch, eh?

Oh, and heads up. I won't be updating again until sometime during the week of November 11. Heading on a little getaway next weekend, and I doubt I'll be able to post before I leave.

Enjoy_ this_ weekend, my friends!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five

**Steph's POV**

"_What _did you just say?"

"You heard me."

"No, I couldn't have," I responded incredulously. "Because I heard you say, 'the price was you', and I _know _you aren't _that _crazy."

"Crazy like a fox—that's me," he responded without inflection, staring at me in typical enigmatic fashion.

I was nothing less than dumbfounded by Ranger's assertion that _I _was somehow to be the payment for his services rendered. The remark made absolutely zero sense. He _knew _I was in love with Joe. Hell, he'd just admitted not ONE minute ago that Joe loved _me _too. _What could he possibly be thinking?_

Forcing myself to calm down, I took a breath and exhaled slowly. I really needed to try and get my constant anxiety under control in order to protect my babies. Cheryl's visit had helped me to see the only one preventing me from moving forward with my new life was _me_. The sense of absolution she'd offered had been empowering, providing me with a new conviction to take control of my future without feeling guilt or doubt about my choices.

And the first place to start was my friendship with Ranger.

Lunch with him on Tuesday had provided a tenuous redefinition of our relationship. While the major events of the past several days had caused some difficult feelings to resurface—on both our parts—I was bound and determined not to go backwards by feeling nervous or awkward around him any longer.

Enough was enough.

"Explain," I demanded huffily, one eyebrow risen in annoyance.

He allowed one corner of his mouth to curl. "Your _husband _started this whole thing."

"_Excuse _me?"

"When I agreed to find Tony—the day we were at Rossini's. He thanked me on the phone, and I said to him, 'don't thank me yet. The price will be huge.'"

"I remember you saying that. But—"

Ranger cut me off. "_His _response was, 'As long as it's not my wife—no price is too huge.'"

"Exactly!"

"But that price makes perfect sense." The slight smirk he'd held slowly faded, and his nearly black eyes grew intense. "You have no idea the personal price I've paid helping Morelli when he's taken everything I've ever wanted."

My eyes rolled, despite the seriousness of his statement. "A price you only realized _after _the choice was taken from you!"

"Babe—"

I flashed him a death glare.

"I'm sorry! It's a damned habit, okay? Give me a break. I'm not playing games here. I'm simply telling you that _I've _paid a price. It's Morelli's turn now."

"But what does your price mean? You're not a stupid man. Thinking Joe would willingly give me up or that I would go—"

"If you'd stop harping at me, I could tell you what I mean."

"I'm hardly harping—"

"Stephanie."

_Sigh—he was right. I WAS harping._

I took another cleansing breath.

"I'll stop."

The barely perceptible smile returned. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," I retorted dryly, mimicking his words to my husband.

_Just what the hell was up his sleeve?_

"Our conversation at lunch got me thinking."

"Which conversation?"

It was his turn to sound frustrated. "Are you going to let me talk here or not? The conversation about what you wanted to do now that your bounty hunting days are over."

"Oh—that one," I said somewhat sulkily.

_When would I be able to hear those words, 'give up bounty hunting' without feeling depressed? _

I loved Joe; I loved our babies, and I loved not being in danger any longer from my job. Truthfully, it wasn't even the skip tracing I missed. It was the people—minus Vinnie—and the sense of purpose having a job brought.

"What about that conversation?" I asked defensively.

"We talked about your strengths and what you did and _didn't _want in a new job—_if _Morelli allowed you to work."

I thumped him none too lightly on the arm. "I already _told _you he didn't care if I worked or not!"

Ranger help up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just sayin'. Jesus, calm down!"

"I still don't understand what any of this has to do with the price Joe owes you."

He dropped the bomb.

"I want you to come to work for me."

My head started shaking before he even finished.

"Thank you, but no. I don't want to work for Rangeman. Despite the fun of working with your men, I hated doing all of those boring computer searches." Pointing to my stomach, I added, "And in another couple of months, I'll be too big for distraction jobs."

"That belly of yours would be a distraction alright," he observed smugly.

"You are cruel and now officially dead to me. Go away." I rubbed my abdomen petulantly, as if to remind myself it _was _still flat—at least for now.

His lips turned up even further. "Enough with the dramatics—you know you're beautiful."

The sparkle in his eyes quickly faded, as we both realized the depth of sentiment behind those words. He hurriedly continued before either of us could feel even more uncomfortable.

"Anyway, I'm not talking about Rangeman."

I looked at him quizzically. "You have another company?"

"I do now—or at least I will as soon as the details can be ironed out."

"Well—what is it?" I demanded curiously. I hated not being in on a secret.

He paused dramatically before dropping his second bombshell.

"I made an offer to buy out Vinnie this morning. If our lawyers can agree on terms, which I have no doubt they will, he's agreed to sell his business to me."

My mouth dropped, and I gave his arm another little poke. "You. Are. Shitting. Me. _Vinnie _is selling the bonds agency? To you!"

Ranger's eyes grew shuttered and his voice chilled considerably. "What? You don't think I'm capable of owning his business?"

_Oh, for Pete's sake!_

"No, Mister Sensitive—that's not what I said _or _meant. Of course I think you're capable. I simply can't believe Vinnie would be willing to part with his baby."

"Once I convinced him of the better life awaiting him in Florida, he was _more_ than interested," Ranger noted mysteriously.

I was immediately suspicious. "Define 'convinced'."

He looked unfazed by my doubt. "You and I both know Vinnie's been running an illegal operation for several years."

_Wait—what?_

"Uh—no. I really didn't know that."

Ranger shook his head disgustedly. "The laws for bond enforcement changed dramatically in 2009, including the requirement of licensing for employees, proper training, strict apprehension protocol—"

"Are you saying all these years I've been doing my job illegally?" I grew panicked at the thought.

"Technically—yes."

My eyebrows shot upward. "_What! _And no one bothered to tell me?" I slugged his arm again. "Why didn't _you _tell me?"

"Quit hitting me!" he ordered, rubbing his bicep. "At first I didn't know. Some of this stuff I didn't learn until I got curious when Vinnie was having all that trouble with Harry awhile back. I did some research and discovered that the State of New Jersey now requires five years of law enforcement or private investigation experience in order to be a bounty hunter."

"You don't have those qualifications, so doesn't that make you illegitimate too?" I asked anxiously.

I have no idea why I was so surprised by any of this. After all, Vinnie _was _a complete slime bag, but still—it scared the crap out of me to think I'd been operating unlawfully all this time.

"My work with the military more than fulfills the experience requirement."

Ranger's response brought me back into focus.

"But not mine."

"No, you've been lucky the State has turned a blind eye toward Vinnie's operation."

"And why would they do that?"

"Who knows? Could be Harry has had some of the higher ups in the State in his hip pocket all this time. Maybe Morelli's association with you had people looking the other way—"

I raised my arm to punch him again, and Ranger pulled back.

"I don't believe it," I protested angrily. "Joe couldn't have been aware. He'd never allow me to do anything illegal."

Ranger shrugged. "I don't know, but I _do _know that Vinnie hiring Bulldog to look for Morelli's brother opened a whole other can of trouble. You _must_ have a New Jersey license in order to do bounty hunting in this state—period. When I reminded Vinnie of this unwise choice, he was more than interested in talking about a deal. The question is—are you interested."

"In what?"

"Interested in working for my agency. Jesus Christ, Stephanie—have you paid any attention at all?"

"I _am _paying attention. I'm pregnant, feverish and recovering from a trek through a swamp. What do you want from me?"

Ranger made a visible effort to control his impatience. Lowering his voice, he assured me gently, "Nothing—and everything."

_Now what was THAT supposed to mean?_

"You already know I'm not physically capable of doing skip tracing, and you've just said I don't have the proper qualifications, so—"

"I don't want you to _do _it. I want you to _run _it."

A quiver of thrill shot through my system. Nervously feeling the need to clarify, I asked, "Run what?"

"Don't act stupid. It doesn't become you," he scolded lightly.

"I'm not acting! I don't understand _any_ of this!"

"The new name of the agency would be M&M Bond Enforcement—short for Manoso and Morelli."

I stared at him in dumbfounded amazement. "What the heck are you talking about, Ranger. Speak English."

"I _have _been. You're simply choosing not to listen. I told you the other day I think you'd make a great manager. You have an uncanny ability to understand people and situations. I want to use the agency as a training ground for future Rangeman employees, as well as to diversify my businesses by training more women. And I want you to help me to do it. In return, I'm offering you forty percent ownership."

"Forty percent! That's a fortune! How the heck am I supposed to come up with that kind of money to buy in?"

He rolled his eyes. "From what I've heard, your husband received a fairly decent reward from the Kennard mess. Unless he spent every penny on that fancy wedding of yours, I should think there'd be some money there for you to invest."

"Not enough to pay almost half of what I'm sure Vinnie's hosing you for the business," I shot back.

"You underestimate me. I'm not asking you to give me forty percent of the money—merely a token of your dedication to the business."

"But you just said forty percent—"

"I know what I said! I have a figure in my head of what I'd require from you. I'll take care of the rest."

I persisted, "But the forty—"

It was enough to finally break Ranger's patience. "This isn't about money, goddamn it! I want to do something for you. Why is that so fucking hard for you to understand? Something tangible and lasting—something that shows how much I love you."

_Uh-oh._

"Whoa—whoa—whoa—wait a minute." I held up my hand. "Is this some kind of twisted attempt to make me change my mind about Joe?"

His nearly black eyes bored into mine. "No."

"Then what is it?"

"I just told you—it's a way for me to offer you a future that's safe and secure."

His answer ticked me off.

"But that's not your responsibility. That's mine—and Joe's. You're freakin' nuts if you think he's going to want my name up on a sign next to yours."

"Would you relax? I'm _not _looking to cause trouble for you and Morelli. You've made your choice. I may not agree with it, but I accept it. However—"

His intense gaze grew even more penetrating, revealing another glimpse of the pain he still felt over my decision to have married Joe.

"I'm also not willing to go fading off into the sunset either. I refuse to lose all of you to _him_. I want something too."

"What do you want?" I asked warily.

"Your abilities, your talent—and your friendship," he responded flatly.

The honest words shot another arrow of guilt into my heart—one that was already struggling with the repercussions of my past actions toward both Ranger and Joe. Reminding myself I'd already sought forgiveness from both men, I focused on Cheryl's suggestion that I forgive myself and tried to focus on the _opportunity_ and not the man in front of me.

"I want your friendship too," I admitted softly. "It means so much to see you trying to mend fences. But this is too much. It's too—too—" My hands flailed wildly, "—too big."

"No it's not."

His face softened. "It's the perfect solution. You can continue to work in the industry you know so well without fear for the safety of you and your children. _I _would know you're safe. And after yesterday—_nothing _is more important."

Sensing his lingering frustration over not having been the one to save me, I responded quietly, "I'm going to be okay, Ranger."

He schooled his expression back into all-business mode. "You can use your skills to build what was a poorly run business into a successful and respected entity. You can help others—"

"Speaking of helping," I jumped in. "You mentioned training as part of the job. I can't train anyone. I haven't had any official instruction myself, nor do I have a license."

His answer was matter-of-fact. "Lula would do the training."

"Lula!" My eyes goggled at Ranger's latest surprise. "She's not _that _good."

"No, not yet," he agreed. "But I'm not finished with her either. Once I am, I think she could work with the women I want to bring on board. In turn, I'll have Tank work with the men."

"But he's your right hand man. You want to relieve him of that position?" I couldn't imagine such a thing. Ranger and Tank were like Batman and Robin—only Robin, instead of being small and wiry, was built more like a—well, like a _tank_.

"I didn't say that, but I'd like to give Lester additional responsibilities with Rangeman, which would then free up some of Tank's time."

_Why did I feel as though I were talking to a wall?_ He already seemed set in his plans—only his plans made no sense.

"But Tank and Lula don't have licenses either."

"I _know _that, Stephanie," he said patiently, as if speaking with a child. He made a face at me. "If you'd let me talk once in awhile, I could explain everything."

My ears heard him, but my brain was too busy to comply. Instead, I continued to badger.

"And _what _is it exactly you'd want from me?"

He sighed at my impatience.

"To oversee the whole operation—including managing Connie, scheduling the training sessions, coordinating hours at the agency for newer Rangeman employees; the accounting—"

I snorted at that last one, breaking his train of thought. "Are you kidding me? You've seen how I've lived from hand to mouth. You'd trust me with your books?"

Ranger was all business now. "Yes. One doesn't have anything to do with the other. You have a college degree with experience in the corporate world as well as on-the-ground experience as a bounty hunter. Whether you realize it or not, you have the skill set to do this job—_with _some refining."

"Define refining."

"You, Tank and Lula would all need to take the sixteen-hour course the State offers to obtain your bond enforcement licenses. I'd also like to see _you_ take some classes in management and basic accounting."

Suddenly I realized how tired I was feeling—both physically _and _mentally.

"You make no sense." My voice sounded weary to my own ears. "How are we supposed to circumvent the law? If we did, we'd be no better than Vinnie."

Ranger's expression turned crafty. "We're not going to circumvent the law. We're going to use it."

I felt like punching him again. "Stop being so goddamned cryptic!"

"The way I see it, Rogers owes Morelli—both personally and professionally. He's been a complete asshole to him since becoming interim chief, correct?"

"You'll get no argument from me."

"_And _if he'd been a real man, he would've owned up to Morelli years ago about the truth behind his father's death. Had he done so, this week might've gone down very differently than it did. It's time to make good on those mistakes."

I watched him closely. "What are you suggesting."

His face was like stone. "Morelli owes me for the help I gave him this week as well as during the Kennard Case. Rogers owes Morelli for a whole host of things. It's payback time all the way around, and you and I are going to make something positive happen out of all of it."

"Exactly what would _your _role be in this partnership?"

There was no mistaking my skepticism, and Ranger picked up on it immediately.

"Relax—I told you I'm not looking to cause trouble. This is a legitimate business offer, Stephanie. For the most part, I would be a silent partner. Of course I'd be there to offer assistance, guidance and financial support, but the day-to-day operation would be left in your hands.

It couldn't be helped. My heart raced with excitement at what he was describing.

Running a hand through my hair, I closed my eyes. "God, Ranger—I don't know. Part of me thinks I should be telling you to get the hell out of here and the other half is out of my mind intrigued with all this—if it's legal."

Opening my eyes, I looked at him tentatively. "Do you _really _think I could handle something of this magnitude?"

"With training—yes. You should know me well enough to know that regardless of my personal feelings toward you, I'd never offer something business-related if I didn't think you could do it."

I chewed on the end of my thumb. "Shit, it's a crazy idea. I'm going to have _twins _to take care of. I can't just go off chasing a dream to their detriment."

"I've already thought of that."

That surprised me to no end. Ranger had about as much interest in children as I'd once had.

"You have?"

"First off—you have to understand, this isn't going to happen overnight. It'll take time to get the legalities worked out, plus time to get licensing, a location, staffing, training—and about a million other things. At minimum, we're looking at June before we could be in operation."

"By then I'll have two infants demanding every second of my time." _The idea was both thrilling and terrorizing._

"Wherever we house the agency, I'll have a nursery built. You can bring your children to work with you."

I stared at him. No_ doubt about it—he'd lost his mind. _

"And what, I'm just supposed to bee bop back and forth between two infants and an office full of employees?" I asked disbelievingly.

"Hire a nanny to look after them," Ranger suggested.

"A nanny! Who do I look like—Paris Hilton? Joe and I don't have the kind of money to afford a nanny—"

"You will with two salaries."

_Two salaries. _

I couldn't fathom having an actual salary again after three years of living from bond recovery to bond recovery. But was all this something Joe would want? For that matter, was it something _I _wanted?

"I need to think," I announced abruptly, feeling not only exhausted but also dazed and completely overwhelmed.

It was almost inconceivable what all had happened in my life since the infamous Vordo week two months ago—in all of our lives really.

"And I need to talk with Joe."

"Obviously," Ranger noted sardonically, "seeing as he's the key to the whole plan. We need him to get Rogers to convince the State to bend some rules."

"If _Rogers _is able to," I pointed out. "He may not become the permanent chief."

"There's that too," Ranger agreed stoically. "Lots of variables and questions. But they all begin with you."

"Why? Are you saying you won't do this if I say no?"

"I'll have to," he shot back. "I need Morelli to make the deal happen."

"And if he agrees, but I say 'no' because I want to stay at home with my babies?"

"It's your choice, Stephanie. Everything has _always_ been your choice. Would I still proceed without you? Yes—because I really want to expand my own business in this area. But would it be a lot more fun to oversee it with my—"

He paused to clear his throat uncomfortably.

"—my friend? Hell yes, it would. You told me the other day I hold myself away from people too much. Believe it or not, I took that criticism to heart. God knows I've had my fill of people in my life this past week, but I've tried. I've fucking tried to open the door—"

"I know," I interrupted, offering him my soft praise. "What you've done for Lula alone is unbelievable—let alone Joe and me."

His eyes gleamed in his handsome face. "Morelli has said repeatedly he's okay with us remaining friends."

"Yes, amazingly he has."

"I'm giving you my word this isn't some sort of trick. I haven't always done right by you in the past, Stephanie. To begin with, I should've offered you a hell of a lot more training when you first started. But I believe in you—and your abilities, and I'd like the chance to build a partnership with you."

"A partnership?" I tested the word out cautiously.

"Yes. It may not be the kind of partnership my heart wanted, but it's one my brain is equally excited about. What do you say?"

Shaking my head, I tried to smile. "You know I can't give you an answer now. How soon do you need one?"

He allowed a brief moment of disappointment before covering it with a blank stare. "By the time I return from Miami."

"Which will be when?"

"Sometime before or after Thanksgiving."

"Okay," I acquiesced quietly. "Regardless of my decision, you'll never know what it means to have you believe in me this much. It's an incredible offer, Ranger. Thank you."

He stood to leave, pulling an envelope out of his coat pocket.

"Here's a draft of what I've proposed, so you can share it with Morelli."

"Thanks."

I reached out to take his hand. "The greater gift is your friendship. You're important to me, and I'm thankful you want to remain friends—maybe even partners."

He brought my hand to his lips and brushed a gentle kiss across the knuckles before placing it across my abdomen.

"Get some rest and take care of those babies. I'll be in touch."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"What did you say Manoso wanted?" I asked distractedly into my cell phone while moving at a fast-clip through the hallways to the empty office where Jessie Stampler was being housed.

After leaving Paul, every five steps someone had stopped to ask about what had gone down yesterday in the swamp or to inquire about how Stephanie and Tony were doing. All the well-meaning questions had left me wondering as well, so I'd called Mary for an update on Tony (no change) followed by a call to Stephanie.

"I _didn't_ say," Steph responded tiredly. "I just mentioned he stopped by. I'll tell you about it when you get back. How did it go with Rogers?"

Recognizing the all-out fatigue in her voice, I retorted gently, "I'll tell you about it when I get back."

She snorted. "Fair enough. I'm going to take a nap before Pollyanna prances back in here to take my blood pressure for the umpteenth time today. I hate her, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but she's only doing her job." I waved to Margie Slater as I passed her cubicle. "How's your temperature?"

"Low-grade, but still there." She sniffed. "Unfortunately, I now have a cold."

My heart wrenched. "To hell with all this—I'm coming back there to be with you."

"No—don't," she retorted testily. "I just told you I'm going to take a nap. What good would it do either of us for you to come and watch me sleep? You like watching me sleep?"

I smiled, and lowering my voice, responded huskily, "Of course—I like watching anything you do, Cupcake. You should know that by now."

"Well, it's going to be awhile before you can watch me do anything worth watching," she tossed back sardonically.

I could picture her blushing, and the mere thought was a turn on. She was right though. Our days of intimacy were definitely on hold until she was home and cleared by Dr. Hamilton.

"Don't take on needless worry, Steph. It's okay."

Sniffing again, she quipped, "Speak for yourself, Morelli. I have raging pregnancy hormones."

"Yeah?" My smile turned to a full-fledged grin. "Then you'd better rest up while you can. I plan to take full advantage of that little perk when we get home."

"Home sounds good." She sighed before asking, "Did you see Paul?"

Turning down another hallway, I rubbed my cheek where he'd hit me and responded grimly, "We talked."

Stephanie was no dumbbell and saw right through the casually spoken words.

"How badly did you hurt each other?"

"We'll live."

"Is he going to cooperate?"

"He'd better."

"That isn't what I asked," she sniped.

"I know. I wish I had a better answer, but Paul's a loose cannon right now. He knows there's a shitload of evidence against him and not a heck of a lot in the plus column—especially as it pertains to the murder of Louie Nagel."

"What about Brian Stampler and—" her voice quivered slightly, "—and Bulldog."

"I saw them both. They aren't worthy of discussion."

"Joe—"

My voice softened. "Leave it for now. Okay, Steph? I don't have much time."

"When do the interrogations start?" she persisted.

I stopped outside the door of the office where Robin Russell had Jessie.

Glancing at my watch, I answered, "About thirty minutes from now."

"Are they going to let you question them?"

"No. I'm out. Rodriguez and Davis are going to tag team the interrogations. I can observe, but that's it."

"How frustrating!"

"I'm okay with it," I lied, trying to sound upbeat. No point in getting her more upset on my behalf before trying to take a nap. "I'm headed in to talk to Jessie Stampler right now."

"You are? Good—I've been worried about her. She's one messed up kid. Go easy on her."

"Don't worry—my torture devices are locked away," I said sarcastically.

"Joe—"

"Get some sleep, Cupcake. I'll be with you just as soon as I can. You have my word."

I'd just about hung up when I heard her say, "I love you." Her voice caught on another sigh. "I love you so much, Joe."

Swallowing hard, I replied hoarsely. "Love you too. Later."

Disconnecting, I knocked lightly on the door and stepped inside the room. A decrepit-looking cot had been hauled in from somewhere, upon which Jessie was sound asleep. Robin Russell, appearing bored out of her mind, sat on a nearby folding chair thumbing through a magazine.

She stood as I entered. "Hey Joe—good to see you."

I smiled genuinely. "You too, Robin. It's been awhile." Nodding toward Jessie, I added, "Sorry you got stuck babysitting."

She shrugged. "No biggie. She's easy to watch. Scared out of her mind though."

"I'll bet."

I ran a hand around the back of my neck. "I need to question her."

Robin nodded perceptively. "I've been expecting someone to talk with her all morning. You want me to leave?"

"No—just the opposite," I instructed, shifting into cop mode. "I want you to stay and help."

She looked startled. "Oh—um—sure."

While I hunted down a recording unit, Robin leaned over and gently shook Jessie's shoulder.

"Jessie—come on. Wake up." She shook her harder. "Come on now. You need to wake up for a little bit. Let's go."

It took several tries. In fact, I'd already set up the equipment by the time Robin was able to rouse Jessie from her deep sleep.

"Wh—what?" Stampler's sister opened her eyes groggily.

Spying me, she shot upward, immediately scanning the room for an escape. Her long, stringy brown hair was disheveled but clean, as was her pale skin. Robin had obviously seen to a shower for her after our trek through the swamp. Jessie's clothing had been tossed, and in their place was a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Judging from the size, they'd probably come from Robin's own locker.

Jessie spied her backpack on the floor beside her. With one terrified glance, she grabbed it and made a bolt for the door. Robin and I moved at the same time, and somehow I managed to catch the teenager about the waist before she could get past me. With little effort, I plopped her back onto the cot.

"You can't make me stay here!" she yelled hotly. Turning toward Robin, she pleaded, "Please, let me go. I don't want to talk to him."

"Why?" I asked quizzically, although I already knew the answer. "I haven't done anything to you, Jessie. I don't even know you."

"But your Paul's brother—Tony's too—not to mention a fucking _pig_!"

Gone was the hysterical girl from the swamp. In her place was a tough, wisecracking street girl—the product of a dysfunctional childhood. Little did she know, I'd once shared her same sullen attitude as a teen and knew all the tricks for emotional self-protection.

One eyebrow went up. "For someone who has a brother that's a cop, you certainly don't seem to have a very high opinion of the law."

"I'm not talking," she insisted staunchly, folding her arms around her backpack and clutching it to her chest.

Not for the first time, I noticed how protective she seemed to be of her bag. She probably had drugs in there, which meant we'd need to confiscate them. Running a hand across my mouth, I shared a glance with Robin before flipping a folding chair around and straddling it across from Jessie.

"You feeling okay?" I asked quietly, purposefully looking anywhere but at her. Rule number one of interrogating a minor: try to appear as nonthreatening as possible.

Jessie remained stubbornly silent, so I shifted my attention to Robin.

"Has she had anything to eat?"

Robin caught on right away to my intention of putting the girl at ease using the old good cop/bad cop standby. Clichéd or not—it usually worked.

"Very little. The doctor who saw her last night said she's malnourished."

"She probably hasn't had much since leaving Newark on Wednesday," I commented. "I doubt Paul had much at his house. Adrienne, his wife, would've cleaned out the kitchen before they left the week before."

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jessie pretending not to listen.

"She did have some soup last night and a bowl of cereal this morning," Robin continued affably. "But what she needs is some meat to stick to her ribs."

"Ribs—that sounds good, doesn't it?" To Jessie, I added, "Like those your boss Al serves at his barbecue place. I bet his wife Betty would love to serve you a heaping plate of those ribs right about now."

At the mention of her former employers, Jessie flinched but remained resolute. Robin noticed and nodded once for me to continue.

Still not looking directly at Stampler's sister, I continued, "Steph and I have eaten there twice in the past couple of months, Robin."

"No kidding?" she feigned surprised. "What a coincidence."

"Yeah, the first time was definitely a coincidence," I agreed. "It was a great night too. Steph and I had just watched the Mets win a playoff game before going in to get some barbecue. Jessie here was our waitress that night."

Robin's eyes widened. "How about that?"

"I suppose you don't remember though, do you," I addressed Jessie, studying my fingernails indifferently.

A grazing glance across her face showed her lips had tightened into a flat line.

"The second time was earlier this week—Monday to be exact," I went on. "Truth be told, we went there specifically looking for Jessie. I was concerned after Paul came to see me Sunday night to tell me about the mess he was in and how he'd enticed Jessie into having an affair."

"Taking advantage of a young woman was a selfish thing to do," Robin commented, allowing censure to color her voice.

I waited a beat and allowed my eyes to brush across Jessie's face again.

"Yes it was," I agreed, finally addressing the teenager head on. "I'm sorry that both of my brothers treated you with such disrespect, Jessie. No woman—teenaged or otherwise—deserves what they did to you."

She bit her lip, loosening the death grip on her backpack long enough to swipe a hand nervously through her hair.

Honest to God—she acted like the dumb thing was a another appendage to her body._ Why hadn't anyone bothered to check it yet? _There was no question I would be examining it, but first I needed to get her to talk.

My voice lowered further. "Betty told Stephanie and me that you took a couple hundred bucks from the till a week ago Wednesday. Said you used it to buy drugs and took off. Now I don't doubt you may have used some of the money to get your hands on weed or some smack, but I think you used a good chunk of it to buy a one-way train ticket over here to see Paul."

If possible, her posture grew even stiffer.

Crossing my arms across the back of the folding chair, I allowed my gaze to tighten.

"My wife is laying in a hospital bed right now fighting to make certain our unborn twins don't die thanks to your brother and that crazy godfather of yours. I think I deserve the right to know why you came here to see Paul. Because I sure as heck know it wasn't a social call."

My cop face was now firmly in place.

"I just talked with Stephanie before I came in here, Jessie. She's very concerned about you. I think it'd be nice if you showed some concern back and told me what the fuck you've been up to for the past week and a half."

Her mouth dropped at my use of profanity, and her eyes darted to Robin's briefly.

"Joe, calm down," Robin warned.

She was playing her role perfectly. I hadn't had much of an opportunity to work with Robin, but I could see she was a very smart and intuitive cop.

"You see, that's the thing," I mused, rubbing my fingers across my cheek where Paul had hit me. "I'm tired of being calm. I'm really angry."

Jessie looked at me fearfully.

Robin put just the right amount of disapproval into her voice. "Detective, you can't get angry with a teenage girl—"

"Oh, I'm not angry with Jessie," I shook my head calmly. "She's like me—a victim of her upbringing." I waited until the girl's anxious gaze met mine. "Like you, I made some incredibly stupid choices growing up, but, thank God, I learned I'm the one only one who controls what I believe about my self—no one else. My mind is my own."

I stared at her openly. "And so is yours."

"Who are you angry with?" Jessie whispered for the first time. Her eyes were wide open and positively terrified.

"A whole bunch of people," I answered seriously. "Some of my family members who I've recently learned have lied to me about something my whole life—my boss who also lied to me and questioned my trustworthiness—and your brother and Bruce Jackson for ultimately putting my wife and children in danger and almost killing my brother."

Robin watched me closely; surprised at my bluntness and unsure of where I was going with all the emotion I was revealing.

"What do you want from me?" Jessie's voice was nothing more than a thin vapor of air. She looked ready to pass out.

"The truth. All I want is the truth, Jessie. It's all I've _ever _wanted."

She studied me for several long minutes.

"I remember you and Stephanie from that night a couple of months ago," she blurted suddenly.

_Bingo. _I'd made a connection.

Robin tried not to smile.

"Yeah?" I asked offhandedly, reaching over to turn on the recorder. "There's no need to be scared, but I'm going to record this conversation in order to protect both of us and keep everything legal."

She squirmed restlessly on the cot, eyeing me suspiciously. "Don't I need a lawyer or something?"

"No—not unless you want one. You haven't been charged with anything. This is merely a fact-finding conversation."

She stared at the recorder nervously. "I don't know anything. Why won't anyone believe me? I just want to go."

"Well, you can't—not yet anyway."

Finding the balance between determined cop and compassion was difficult. Every time I wanted to snap at her, I heard Steph's voice in my head telling me to 'go easy'.

Taking a slow, steadying breath, I leaned over and placed my chin on top of my folded arms, announcing for the sake of the recorder, "Ms. Stampler and I are discussing the fact that my wife Stephanie and I were in a restaurant where Ms. Stampler worked last month."

To Jessie, I added, "I'm surprised you remembered Steph and me. We were pretty much only into each other that night and not all that social."

In the midst of the tension, the sweet memory of that perfect date with Stephanie brought a secretive smile to my face.

Jessie's lips flattened again. "You look like Paul. I figured you must be related to him. When I ran your credit card, I saw the name Morelli and knew you either had to be a brother or a cousin."

"Younger brother—by quite a bit."

"How is Stephanie?" she asked timidly. "I feel real bad that she got hurt. And your babies? Are they okay too? Oh—and Stephanie's friend—Mary Lou? How is she?"

"Mary Lou has a concussion, but it looks as though she'll be okay. We'll know more in the days ahead about Stephanie and the twins, but I'm trying to remain hopeful."

My eyes softened momentarily at the mention of my wife and children, but then quickly hardened at the thought of what Bulldog had done to her. "They both went through hell on account of that godfather of yours, Jessie. How'd it feel to watch a man you admire hold a gun to my wife's stomach—?"

"I _don't _admire him. I don't admire _any _man—except maybe for Paul."

I couldn't prevent my mocking response. "Yeah—Paul's a real pillar of the community, alright." My eyes narrowed to an intense pinpoint. "Stephanie and my children are my whole world. If anything fatal had happened to them because of Jackson—or even Paul—"

Her own expression turned skeptical. "Your whole world. Right—I bet you fool around on your wife all the time. _All_ men are losers like that."

I made sure her attention was completely focused on me before answering, "Never. I'm not like my brothers."

Looking doubtful, she tilted her head. "But are you like _my_ brother?"

Reminding myself to tread carefully, I angled my head as well.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Her knee began to bounce then, and the action was so like Stephanie, I had to smile again.

"You're a cop, right? That means you like law and order."

"I do think laws are important, yes," I agreed warily, uncertain where her thought process was going.

"Brian is a stickler for order. He has rules on top of rules." She gave a teenaged version of a Jersey eye roll and added disgustedly, "Nothing I do is ever good enough for him."

I shifted my gaze toward Robin, silently willing her to ask the question in my brain.

"Jessie, did your brother ever harm you physically if you didn't conform to his rules?"

She grimaced. "No—although sometimes I think that would've been easier."

Robin caught my subtle nod and continued, "Easier than?"

"His form of punishment was to make me do whatever it was I'd done wrong over and over and over again until I'd finally correct whatever it was to his satisfaction."

"Can you give me an example?"

Her face grew reflective.

"Once when I was twelve, I forgot to put the cap back on the toothpaste. He made me screw and unscrew the friggin' thing about a hundred times."

_Interesting._

"Give me another," Robin encouraged.

She grimaced. "I can't tell you how many times I've had to stay up all night scrubbing floors because I dropped a crumb or writing complete essays after missing one question on a test. Living with him was like being in prison. He controlled what I ate, what I wore, what I did, and what I said for the first thirteen years of my life. He's a friggin' lunatic!"

"What happened when you were thirteen?"

"I went to middle school and met a new group of friends—friends who saw the hell I was living in and offered me a way to escape."

"And put you into a different—yet equally horrible prison," Robin opined.

"No way," Jessie came back with. "My friends _care _about me. They listen when I can't take the mental abuse any longer. They offer me solutions of how to get around Brian's crazy rules, and they give me things to help ease the emotional pain."

"Those are just band aids," Robin pointed out. "Little band aids that don't even work. The pain and the problems are still there when you come down off the high, right?"

Ignoring Robin, Jessie's now emotionally dead eyes met mine instead. "So? There's _always _another high waiting if you've got the cash and another man to help you find it."

Nausea rolled through my belly at the thought of what this poor girl had been forced to endure at the hands of so many different men—my own brothers included.

"How close were you to your godfather, Bruce Jackson, growing up?" I asked, shifting the subject subtlety and hoping I hadn't jumped the gun too soon. It was clear she held a lot of anger toward men and still didn't trust me.

Her scowl grew deeper. "He and my father were best friends growing up in Los Angeles."

That surprised me. "Was your father a cop too?"

"No—he was a pilot for the Navy, which is how he met my mother. They married three months after they both got out of the service and settled in New Jersey to be near my mother's parents who were elderly—or so I'm told." Her green eyes glittered with unreleased sadness. "I don't remember my parents."

I kept my face void of any emotion. She seemed to respond better to _no_ reaction versus _over_reaction.

"That's right. They died when you were very young."

"My dad took a job as a private flight instructor for single engine planes over at the airport. On his days off, sometimes the airport would allow him to take a plane up for personal use. He and my mother evidently loved to take it on little day trips. On the day they died, we were all supposed to fly over to Boston, but I came down with a cold at the last minute. Brian offered to stay home to watch me. Because of it, we were both saved from the crash."

"What about your grandparents?" Robin questioned tentatively, and I gave her an encouraging look to continue.

Our tag team approach seemed to be working. Jessie hadn't balked in several minutes.

She shook her head. "They died within two years of each other not long after Brian was born. I never knew them."

"No other relatives?"

"None that are close—and no one in the area. Had Brian not been so much older than me, I probably would've ended up in foster care after my parent's died." She looked out the window of the small office and added glumly, "Course that probably would've been better than living with him."

"Was your brother always this way or only recently?" Robin wondered casually. Again, I was struck by her perceptive skills.

"I have no idea what he was like before my parents died, but Brian's been a frickin' drill sergeant my _whole_ life."

"How awful," Robin sympathized sincerely.

Jessie shrugged indifferently, but the resentment simmered beneath the surface.

"Yeah? Well, don't put yourself out worrying about me. Just let me out of here, and I'll be fine."

"Tell me more about Bulldog," I encouraged quietly, trying to keep her focused.

She immediately grew suspicious of me. "Why do you want to know about him?"

It was time to play it straight with her.

Looking her in the eye, I responded, "You saw with your own eyes what he did out there in that swamp. I plan to put him behind bars for almost killing my brother and bringing harm to my wife and children. You can choose to help me or not, but I _will _bring him to justice."

"Bulldog!" she spat suddenly. "What a stupid nickname! He got it when he rode with the Iron Pigs out in California."

_Okay—LOTS of anger—toward Jackson. _

"Growing up, were you close to him?"

"_No_," she answered emphatically. "He may've been my godfather in name, but he was nothing to me. Of course, he was like a second father to Brian. My brother idolized him—at least until recently. He's the reason Brian decided to become a cop."

I needed to get to that 'until recently' comment, but first things first.

"I'm surprised he didn't offer to take you in after your parent's death," I observed mildly. "Your brother was so young. I would think he would've appreciated help from someone older."

Jessie looked at me as though I were crazy. "Hell no—that would've meant admitting there was something he couldn't do, and Brian could _never _do that. Uncle Bruce would come out a couple of times a year to visit, and even Brian could hardly wait for him to leave. Me either."

"Why's that?"

"Brian would spend hours preparing the house—which meant _I _spent days preparing the house—for one of Uncle Bruce's visits. Everything had to be perfect. But then Uncle Bruce would spend the whole time telling Brian what he was doing wrong and how he _should_ do things. Cooking, shopping, taking care of me, police business—it didn't matter. Of course, after the visit was over, _I'd _be the one one the receiving end of Brian's frustration."

She was finally relaxing, and her bitterness flowed freely.

"And yet, you said the two of them were close?" Robin cut it, showing the right amount of bemused wonder.

Jessie scoffed, "Brian may not have liked being told what to do, but it was only because he idolized Uncle Bruce. He wanted to be perfect for him. He tried to do everything on his own, and yet he knew he could always fall back on our godfather if he needed him for anything."

_Including murder. _Good old Uncle Bruce.

"But that changed recently—or so you said a minute ago," I reminded her.

Instantly, her whole body language closed down on me again.

_Damn it! _Slow down, Morelli.

"When and why did Bulldog come to Newark this time?" I asked in a nonthreatening tone. My jaw was clenched from trying to hold in my frustration.

Too late—she'd absorbed my tension and anger and was afraid.

Turning to Robin, she asked sullenly, "I'm done talking. When can I get out of here?"

Robin shook her head and smiled kindly. "Jessie, you know we're not going to be able to just let you go. You're not of age—"

"You _have _to let me go!" she exploded. "I'm _not _going to any old foster home. My friends—"

"Are part of the problem," Robin countered more firmly. "What are you going to do—run back to them and get high? It's _not _going to help you."

"That's right," I jumped back in, beginning to feel a little more desperate. "Are _they_ the ones that introduced you to Louie Nagel, or did you manage that on your own?"

"Leave my friends out of this! You _better _not be harassing them!" She stood to leave, and I leaned forward to push her lightly back down.

My overloaded brain was no longer willing to listen to Stephanie's cautionary voice.

"We're cops, Jessie. You know how things work. We know all there is to know about you already—who your friends are; what you've been doing with them—everything," I baited, allowing a little smugness to come through in my tone.

"Then why the fuck you been wasting time asking me all these questions!" She shifted that damned backpack of hers to one arm in order to wave the other. "Shit, why can't everyone just leave me alone?"

"Watch you mouth," Robin cautioned. "You're speaking to two officers of the law."

Jessie pointed at me. "_He's _swearing! Why shouldn't I?"

I needed to regain control—immediately.

"Let's all take a deep breath and relax here, okay?" I ordered—as much to myself as anyone else.

Allowing Jessie and me both a minute to find our composure, I then asked, "Why did you come to Trenton? I know it was to see Paul, but I can't figure out why. You had to have known your relationship with him was over, right?"

"Says who?" Jessie challenged, glaring fiercely at me. "You don't know anything."

"Come on," I chided gently. "You must've known Brian confronted Paul after you confessed to him you were having an affair."

"No—I—"

"Why _did _you confess anyway?"

She sputtered, "It was only because Brian read my journal. He recognized the name Morelli and went berserk."

I knew full well _none_ of this mess had to do with Stampler's jealousy of me back in our academy days, but I did think it was likely that merely hearing the name Morelli would've left a bad taste in his mouth and made him even more apt to investigate Paul. Because the truth of the matter was that I was sure Paul wasn't the first lover Jessie had ever had.

Jessie continued, "He absolutely freaked and threatened to arrest my friends and me for doing drugs if I didn't call it off with Paul."

"Did he know about your association with Nagel?"

"Sure, he knew my friends and I visited Nagel from time to time. It totally pissed him off."

"I can imagine," I noted dryly. "It pisses me off too. A bunch of kids hooking up with a well-known drug dealer—gee, why should that upset anyone?"

"I told you—we do it to escape from the pressure of life. It's fun."

"Fun—is that what you call shooting heroin? Fun?" My voice went flat and cool. "I call it asinine. How about you, Robin?"

"Especially a pretty young woman like you," my fellow officer agreed.

"Yeah, I can pretty much understand why Stampler was upset over your little hobby," I sneered.

"Shut up—you sound like Brian!" Jessie fumed. "Nobody wants me to have any fun. All my life Brian has wanted me to be little Miss Perfect. Well, I'm not, okay? I had my first drink at thirteen, smoked my first joint at fourteen and had sex not long afterward. Does that sound like someone who is perfect?"

"No, it sounds like someone who's desperate," I countered lightly.

Despite her bravado, her voice hitched at my words. "My brother was obsessed with Nagel. Brian told me he'd tried many times to get his boss to let him investigate Nagel's business, but he was always told more concrete evidence was necessary before the police could do a sting. I'd laugh in his face "

Her face turned red with anger. "Brian thought Nagel was the whole reason for my lifestyle choices. Hell, _Brian _was the reason for my choices! I'd have done _anything _to get out of that house and out from underneath his control. He drives me crazy!"

"It must've been horrible living with him if you were willing to make the poor choices you did just to escape," Robin pacified.

Jessie cast her a grateful look. "You have no idea." Her fingers ran uneasily over the backpack still sitting in her lap.

There _had _to be drugs in there the way she was clinging to the bag. And I was about to find out.

"Listen—Paul may not have been the first guy I've slept with, but he _was_ the first adult," Jessie explained. "And yet I think it was the name Morelli that upset Brian more than anything."

"I highly doubt that," I replied sardonically. "But for argument's sake, let's say you're right. Wouldn't knowing he was _that_ angry be enough to convince you he was going to put an end to your relationship?"

For the first time since I'd arrived in the room, her composure slipped and her eyes filled with tears. "I didn't th—think that Paul would allow my brother to come between us. I thought he loved me."

My stomach churned once more with anger at how Paul's loose morals had started this whole nightmare.

"Did you know he had a wife and kids?"

Jessie swiped at her eyes.

"Yes. But I thought he loved _me_," she repeated. "He said he did. I thought he'd marry me and get me from under Brian's control."

"Did you know your brother had confronted Paul at his place of work?"

"No."

"No? What about the deal the two of them made? Did you know about that?"

"What deal?" she asked a little too casually.

I shifted tracks, hoping to circle back. "Did you ever see Paul at Louie Nagel's house?"

"No! I didn't even know he knew him."

Her eyes darted to the left. Another lie.

"How about the names Meachum? Gambino? Herrick? Ever heard of them?"

"No!"

"Did you even know Louie Nagel was murdered?"

"Stop!" Jessie looked frantically at Robin. "Make him stop."

Robin shook her head. "It's time to get serious here, Jessie. Answer his questions."

"Why did you come to Trenton?" I pressed. "Better yet—why were you in Paul's house?"

"I—I told you. I wanted to see him."

"No, you didn't tell me that. You said you thought Paul loved you, but not what you were doing in Trenton. Why did you want to see him?"

"It's none of your business!" she snapped. "Why are you dissing me like this? And Paul? How can you talk this mean about your own brother?"

"Are you freakin' kidding me? It's _his _selfish behavior with you that started this whole mess. And because of it, I've got another brother potentially lying on his deathbed and a wife, two unborn children and a dear friend recovering from their own nightmares at the hand of your godfather. How could Paul have allowed you to believe there was any possible hope of a future with him? Shit, Jessie. He has a daughter of his own that isn't that much younger than you!"

"Morelli!" Robin rebuked my language for the record.

My chest felt suffocated from the immense frustration I felt inside.

Toning down my volume, I addressed both women, "I apologize—to you both."

I then stared at Jessie. "Listen to me, because I only want to say this once. If you love Paul as much as you say you do, you need to start talking to me—and telling me the truth. Otherwise, he is surely going to go to prison for the murder of Louie Nagel—and perhaps several other people as well."

"Paul didn't kill Nagel," she announced matter-of-factly.

My breath caught.

_Finally._

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

"Why? Because you say so—because you love him?" I pushed at a lock of hair that had fallen across my forehead. "Neither of those lovely sentiments is going to hold up in a court of law. I need facts. And unfortunately all the facts right now are against Paul."

She gnawed on her lower lip with her teeth. "I just know."

"Do you know who did?"

Her eyes darted left again.

"Jessie, look at me."

She shook her head, the tears falling more freely. "I can't. I'm scared."

My eyes cut to Robin's. _Now!_

Robin moved to sit on the coat beside Jessie and slipped her arm around the girl's shoulders. "Of what, honey? Detective Morelli and I are here to protect you at all costs. Who scares you?"

"My brother," she whispered. "And Uncle Bruce."

I mentally urged Robin to continue.

"If you tell us why, I promise we can help you," the officer vowed. "You'll feel so much better once it's off your chest."

Suddenly it was if I'd emerged from a darkened tunnel, and I could see light for the first time in days. And the reason was obvious.

"What did you see and hear, Jessie?" I asked in a guttural voice.

She shook her head again, her tears becoming sobs. "I—I can't—"

"Is it Brian? Did he say something to you?"

"No," she denied, and then added, "Not to me."

"To whom? Paul? Nagel? Bulldog?"

Her eyes closed at the last name.

_Bulldog._

Every muscle in my body was tensed in anticipation. I had to work to keep my voice steady.

"Jessie did Bulldog kill Louie Nagel?"

Yet again, she shook her head wordlessly.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"Did Jason Meachum?" I threw out the name, thinking perhaps she'd been mixed up with him too by virtue of her association with Nagel.

She waggled her head to the negative.

I swallowed hard. "Did Paul?"

"No! I told you he didn't!"

It couldn't have been Jessie herself, as she wouldn't have been able to physically get to Stephanie's apartment to do it.

_Of course. _

"It was Brian, wasn't it," I said quietly.

Both of her knees were bouncing now, her whole body trembling violently as she clutched her beloved backpack to her chest.

I needed to stop pressing, but I was so goddamned frustrated, I couldn't seem to stop.

Her bag mesmerized my eyes, and plain old curiosity won out over good interrogation technique.

"What's in the backpack, Jessie? Smack?"

Her arms crushed the bag even tighter. "No! Stop. You're being mean, and I don't want to talk to you anymore. I want a lawyer." Her voice rose, "Somebody get me a lawyer!"

_Shit. _I'd totally lost control of the situation—and her. Now that she'd asked for a lawyer, I couldn't go any further. _Why the fuck had I lost all ability to do my job without allowing personal emotion to get in the way?_

"Calm down, Jessie," Robin appeased.

The teenager stood abruptly, wrenching out of Robin's comforting embrace. "I've told you all I know. Now let me go!"

She took off for the door. Robin lurched forward off the cot at the same time I faked to the right and grabbed hold of Jessie's shoulder. The motion startled her and jarred the backpack, causing it to tumble to the floor. The pack's opening was loose enough that its contents came spilling out. Only it wasn't drugs that skittered across the floor.

It was papers.

Jessie freaked. "Don't touch anything!"

She was on her hands and knees in an instant, reaching for anything her hands could touch. Some of them had slid clear across the floor, and Robin and I both bent down to help her.

"Stop!" she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It's private. You have no right to look at my private things."

Nothing was going to stop me from looking at those papers.

I picked up the first one, and my heart jumped so hard, I thought would leap right out of my mouth. It was a page from Stampler's personal log, and Paul's name was written all over it.

April 10 – Learned today that someone named Paul Morelli has been having an affair with Jessica. I am outraged at her behavior. She will need to be sufficiently punished for not following the rules. I have no idea what I will do about the situation, but I plan to find out more about this Morelli character. If he's related to Joe Morelli in any way, it will explain a lot about _his _character.

"Stop!" Jessie insisted, reaching out to try and snatch the paper from my hands.

I turned my back to avoid her clawing fingers. _What was this?_

Robin, sensing I'd found something critical, pulled Jessie gently backward. "Jessie—"

"That's private!" she continued to screech, but her voice was nothing more than a buzz in my ear.

April 14 – My research has proven fruitful. Paul Morelli _is _related to Joe Morelli—his brother. My first instinct was to go over to Trenton and kill the bastard for having sex with my baby sister. But upon further research, I've learned Paul went to high school with Jason Meachum and his gang of goons. This may prove to be helpful. I need to think.

April 16 – Chief Reynolds has denied me again! When will that idiot understand that Louie Nagel and his den of drugs are ruining young lives? For two years I've been gathering evidence against Nagel and only recently discovered information suggesting he might be in business with Meachum over in Trenton.

There was the self-righteous, almost vigilante-like anger. It was as clear as day.

April 20 – Jessica came home high again. If only I could control that girl! I've had to lock her in her room again. This time she'll write a ten thousand-word essay on the danger of drugs on America's youth. It doesn't help that she is still obsessed with that low-life Morelli. I've read of her dreams to escape with him. I'm convinced he is the cause of her increased licentiousness. Upon further consideration, I think prison would be too easy a penalty for soliciting my sister. He owes me for the humiliation associated with tainting her reputation. I plan to ask him to help me bring down Nagel's operation. But first I must strategize.

My stomach twisted painfully on behalf of the poor, emotionally abused girl standing in front of me.

April 25 – Confronted Paul Morelli at his place of employment today. I've managed to 'convince' him to join my team in bringing down Louie Nagel's operation. I have told him he will serve as an informant for the NPD. He will find a way to infiltrate Meachum's gang and is to report to me within the next week. He is the link I've been waiting for. Must make plans to ensure Reynolds doesn't catch wind of my deception. I hate all of this treachery, but I've relieved myself from guilt. Reynolds should've listened to me. Had he gone by the book, I wouldn't be forced to resort to using Morelli in this way. No great loss however. Paul Morelli is an idiot, just like his brother. This will be the perfect way to make him pay for taking advantage of an innocent, young girl. The Bible teaches, 'Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord'. Well, in this case—vengeance will be _mine_.

_Holy hell! _There it was—the proof that Paul wasn't lying about being an informant for Stampler.

My God.

It was the proof. It was the contents from the Morelli file in Stampler's office!


	26. Chapter 26

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Hi-ho! I'm back. Hope you all have had a good break, but now it's time to get back into the groove with this story. Lots going on this chapter, some of which may not be perfectly correct. I'm no legal export nor am I a cop. Just go with the flow, people. LOL!

Thanks to my two fabulous beta buddies, Julie and Kim. They both provided some downright spectacular feedback on this chapter, made even more helpful by the fact I needed a little kick to get going after my break. Thanks for taking time away from your own stories to help me. Love you both dearly.

Thanks also to everyone who continues to plod along on this journey with me and to those who are new to the series as well. You are ALL awesome!

Okay, here we go...

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six

My mouth literally dropped.

"Where did you get this?" I asked in a raspy voice, highly conscious of the fact she'd asked for an attorney and that our conversation was still being recorded.

Jessie struggled against Robin. Her arms flailed wildly as she tried desperately to reach the paper in my hand. Looking around the room, I saw dozens more still scattered about.

"Jessie, you've asked for an attorney on record. Is that what you really want?" I asked as calmly as I could. The poor kid looked half-crazed in fear. "Because _I_ think what you really want is to get this secret you've been carrying around for almost two weeks off your chest."

I looked at her earnestly. "I want to help you, but I only can do that if you come clean with me. Are you sure you don't want to talk some more?"

She was so white I thought for certain she'd faint. Robin must've thought the same thing; for she tightened her hold, urging, "Jessie, are you all right?"

"I'll t—talk," she whispered, her eyes open wide and focused on me. "I—I want to talk."

_Thank God._

Trying to seem unfazed, I pointed to the machine in the middle of the table. "I need to ask you for the record. Do you want an attorney present?" My eyes gentled. "It's okay if you do."

She shook her head weakly. "No. I'm fine."

"Okay, then where did you get this journal?"

"Brian's office," she whispered, but then her voice grew stronger. "But don't tell him! I need to talk to Paul—"

"No! You _need _to talk to me," I countered firmly. "I don't understand why you've been withholding this for so long. Jessie—the information in these papers practically _clears_ Paul!"

"I don't know who—who I can trust," she blurted, looking frantically between Robin and me.

"You can trust _us_," I insisted. "We're police officers, remember?"

She shook her head. "Brian was a police officer. Uncle Bruce was a police officer. Being a cop means _nothing _to me—nothing except cruel rules and horrible treatment of people who aren't as strong as you."

The girl was absolutely terrified, and it made sense now. All this time she'd been carrying around a bag filled with explosive information that only too many people wanted to get their hands upon. Not knowing whom to trust, she'd gone into hiding.

I ran a hand across my mouth, trying to think like a cop and not as a brother who'd just found the friggin' pot of gold.

Setting the paper carefully down on the table beside me, I turned to her. "I know it's not easy for you to trust—especially men, but I swear you can believe me. I won't let you down." Pointing at the cot, I added, "Come on—have a seat. Let's talk."

Jessie stared at me for what felt like a lifetime before tilting her head to look up at Robin. Once she saw my fellow officer's encouraging nod, she inched her way over to the cot and sat, still watching Robin like a hawk as she carefully picked up the papers on the floor.

Clutching her hands between her knees, she asked nervously, "Are—are you going to arrest me?"

_Go easy on her, Morelli._

Now that the truth was out, my head felt clearer than it had in days, and once again I could hear Stephanie's words ringing loudly in my head. The realization almost made me smile in the midst of the tension stifling the room. Looking down at Jessie, I saw what Stephanie had witnessed yesterday—a scared—and very mixed up—young girl.

"No, I'm definitely not going to arrest you," I promised kindly, once more straddling the chair across from her. "Like I told you earlier—I just want the truth."

When she still looked doubtful, I added huskily, "Jessie, he's my brother. My family isn't like yours. I love Paul very much. I only want to help him—and you."

Hearing my own words, I hated how I was rubbing in her face the fact she'd been left in the care of a brother with serious mental and control issues. And while what I'd said was true—I did love Paul—the truth was my own family had massively dysfunctional issues as well. Unfortunately, the bottom line was I needed to do my job.

Forcing myself to remain patient, I asked in a more inviting manner, "How and when did you learn about these papers?"

Jessie bent her body over so far her nose practically touched her knees. It was the posture of someone who had no strength left to fight. Her voice was muffled as she spoke.

"A week ago Tuesday."

"The day before you stole the money from Al and Betty?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me about it?"

She began haltingly, "I came home from school early." The back of her neck turned red as a beet before adding softly, "I had cramps."

_Ah Jeez. _

Embarrassment colored my face as well, and I was thankful her head was down. It wasn't as if I was a stranger to female stuff—not with a mother, two sisters and Stephanie. But talking about such personal things with a teenaged girl was another story. Suddenly the image of my own daughter one day needing to talk about womanly business came to mind, and my stomach pitched—hard.

_Shit._

The mere thought had me sweating. Thank God Robin was there. Seeing my look of discomfort, she rolled her eyes before setting the papers back onto the table and moving to sit down beside Jessie on the cot.

"It's okay," she soothed. "That's nothing to be embarrassed about. I get cramps too."

_Okay, could this get any more awkward?_

Rolling _my _eyes at Robin, who had raised a pointed eyebrow in my direction, I cleared my throat and offered Jessie weak encouragement, "Robin's right. Uh—go on."

"I was in my room when I heard Brian talking loudly on the phone with someone. He's always so cold and uptight. Hearing him yelling like that frightened me, so I snuck out to see if I could find out what was going on."

"And?"

"He—he was on the phone with Uncle Bruce."

"How do you know?"

Her voice took on an edge. "Because he said his name, okay? God—you can be a pushy SOB, you know that?"

I didn't even bother to chastise her language, considering how rough my own had been earlier. She was right. I _was _being pushy, and I was about to push a hell of a lot harder. Despite the compassion I felt for her, I needed answers—and quickly.

Lowering my voice, I continued, "What was Brian saying?"

Jessie raised her head, and I could see the tears filling her eyes again. "He told Uncle Bruce he'd made a mistake."

"Mistake?"

"That he—he'd ki—killed someone and didn't know what to do."

The poor thing was practically convulsing with tremors. My heart went out to her, and again I was thankful for Robin's presence. She rubbed her hand gently across Jessie's back.

"Did Brian say Nagel's name?"

The question came out somewhat absently. I was already busy thinking through the timeline of Nagel's death. Steph had left her apartment with Dillon on Monday afternoon. The ME had determined the time of death to be Monday night around nine o'clock. Dillon had called in to dispatch around eleven on Tuesday morning, which was when I'd been tagged.

She shook her head. "No, but I knew who he was talking about right away. He told Uncle Bruce he'd been trying to nail the drug dealer who'd been supplying me for some time, but he'd run into one roadblock after another with Chief Reynolds—Brian's boss. He then told him about my affair with Paul. He said he was using him in an undercover investigation that was unsan—unsun—"

"Unsanctioned?" Robin supplied helpfully.

"Unsanctioned—yes."

"Do you recall if Brian was gone Monday night?"

"Yeah, he had to work late. So did I—over at the restaurant. We both got home sometime after eleven o'clock."

Which would've given Stampler more than enough time to make the hour or so drive from Trenton to Newark.

"Okay—back to Jackson. Did Brian ask him on the phone to go to Trenton?"

"No, he asked him to come to our house—said he needed help. It was a short conversation. When he got off the phone, I slipped back into my bedroom and put headphones on, so Brian wouldn't think I'd been eavesdropping when he discovered I was home. He told me Uncle Bruce was in Columbus, Ohio on business and had decided to come for a visit. He said we'd need to begin prepping the house, which really meant _I'd _need to begin prepping. And that's what I did all the rest of the day and evening."

"That was Tuesday. When did Jackson get to your house?"

"Sometime Wednesday. He wasn't there when I left for school, but his car was in the driveway when I got home. I snuck in the back door and heard the two of them in the living room. Brian was telling Uncle Bruce about how he'd been doing surveillance on Nagel Monday night, and how he'd ended up following him to Trenton when Nagel got a phone call at about seven thirty and took off."

The phone call had probably been Jason Meachum, informing Nagel that Stephanie had Paul's suitcase. Perhaps he'd agreed to meet Meachum and his gang at her apartment to ransack the place.

"Then what?"

Jessie rubbed her arms vigorously, trying to stem her shaking. Her eyes were still wide and wary of me. "He said when he got to the apartment that the place was trashed, but he found Nagel back in the bedroom going through a closet."

Her voice began to quiver. "Brian pu—pulled his gun on him. They had an argument over the fact he was supplying my friends and me with drugs. Things got out of control, and Brian shoved him hard. Nagel fell backward against the headboard and knocked himself out. Brian took the opportunity to frisk him and discovered heroin in the pocket of his jacket. In a—in a—" She paused while she tried to think of the words her brother had used. "—in a 'moment of passion', he gave Nagel a lethal dose."

Robin exchanged glances with me. I couldn't imagine what was going through her head right about then. All the information being shared would be completely new to her, given the fact she'd had nothing to do with any of these investigations up until being assigned to babysit Jessie the night before.

Casually, I asked, "Did Brian happen to say anything about a watch?"

Despite her age, the girl was no dumbbell and knew exactly what she was being asked.

"He told Uncle Bruce about the raid that had gone wrong the previous Friday night, and how he'd met up with Paul at a truck stop. Brian supposedly told Paul his hands were tied, and he couldn't offer him help or protection any longer, which was a big, fat lie. He _never _intended to help Paul." Her eyes burned with anger. "I know. I read it in these papers."

I grimaced. _Tell me something I DON'T already know, kid._

"The watch?" I prompted, feeling impatience welling again.

"It fell off of Paul's wrist during the meeting. After Paul left, Brian picked it up. He purposefully left it at the apartment when he killed Nagel to implicate Paul and cover his own tracks."

There was so much to absorb—so much still yet to learn. My brain was racing with questions and answers—and beneath it all was this overwhelming sense of relief that my brother hadn't lied to me. I wasn't all too sure I could've mentally withstood another lie from one of my family members.

"Let's go back to Brian's conversation with Jackson. What happened next?"

"Uncle Bruce yelled at Brian for a long time about all the things he'd done wrong and about what he _should've_ done instead. Brian got defensive, and they argued for quite a bit. Then Brian begged Uncle Bruce for help. He was scared to death his role in the murder would be discovered and that I'd be left alone."

"How did that make you feel?" Robin wondered quietly.

Jessie went on the defensive again. "Just fine!" she scoffed. "I'm better off without him. My _friends_ are the ones who take care of me."

She was trying to hard to be tough, but the mixture of fear—and reluctant love—she felt for her brother were clearly evident.

"Yeah, we know about your _friendships_. We've been down that road already, remember?" I reminded her sardonically.

Standing, I began to slowly walk around the room. The adrenaline in my system could barely be contained. _I was SO fucking close to the complete truth!_

"How did Jackson know to ask about the bounty hunting position?"

"The _what_?" she looked confused.

I realized she didn't know the lingo of law enforcement, which surprised me given the fact her brother was a cop. But then I thought of all the drugs she'd pumped through her system and realized it probably had attributed to her state of mind as well.

"How did Jackson know where to begin searching for Paul?" I clarified.

"Oh—Brian told Uncle Bruce more about his blackmailing of Paul to help bring down Nagel. They made some calls and found out who had the—the—what do you call it?" She frowned in concentration.

"The bond?"

"Uh-huh. Brian told Uncle Bruce about Tony having been arrested at a raid on Meachum's house. They agreed that finding Tony would either lead them to Paul or lure him in."

"And so Jackson volunteered to help?"

She flashed those green eyes of hers defiantly at me. "No—he _demanded_ he be allowed to help. He was pretty angry with Brian for having made a mess of things."

"How did you get your hands on the file? How did you even _know _about it?"

"Uncle Bruce asked if there was any incriminating evidence lying around. Brian told him about the log he'd kept in his office. After Uncle Bruce berated him for being so stupid as to have kept a written record, he said it would have to be destroyed. But first, he wanted to go by Nagel's house and take a look around. So, as soon as they left, I got busy."

"Busy—busy how?"

"I went right to Brian's office and searched through his files until I found the one marked Morelli. I didn't even take time to read anything. I just shoved the contents into my backpack. Then I quickly raced through our house to make it look as though someone had broken in."

"_You _were the one to ransack your place?" I tried not to sound incredulous, but it was hard. The girl _had_ been busy.

She nodded. "Then I went down to the restaurant and snuck in the back door. I managed to steal two hundred dollars while Al and Betty were both out in the dining room getting things ready to open for the dinner rush. Afterward, I went to the bus station. I knew I needed to get to Trenton to see Paul. On the way, I read through the papers and realized Brian was fully intending to frame Paul if anything went wrong with busting Meachum's and Nagel's operations."

She took a steadying breath.

"Once I heard how he'd left the watch at the apartment to make it look as though Paul had killed Nagel, I knew Brian—especially now with Uncle Bruce helping him—would stop at nothing. I _had _to try and warn Paul. I—I love him. I couldn't let anything bad happen to him."

It was all falling into place. Stampler and Jackson must've gone back to the house and discovered the place had been ransacked and that the file—and Jessie—were both missing. The question was did they suspect her, or think that she'd been kidnapped? I had to believe the former.

They'd probably spent all of Wednesday night searching for her around Newark. On Thursday, Stampler had asked for a week's vacation to give him more time to search. Perhaps he'd gotten an inkling that his sister was in Trenton, so he and Bulldog had taken off for there? Still so many unanswered questions!

Friday would've been the day that Bulldog interviewed with Vinnie, and Stephanie had met him—right before we'd gone to see Dr. Hamilton for the paternity test results. God, what a crazy two weeks it had been!

"We're almost finished, Jessie. What happened when you got to Trenton?" Robin asked. We both had noticed the teen was looking tired, and Robin was trying to prime the pump enough for her to finish.

Jessie pressed her fingers to her eyes. "I—I found Paul's address in a phone book at the bus station and took a cab there."

My eyebrows rose. "You weren't afraid my sister-in-law might be there?"

"I wasn't planning on knocking on the door! Jeez—do you think I'm stupid or something?" She glared at me. "I was going to wait until Paul went outside to talk to him. But after not seeing any signs of activity for hours, I looked through all the windows and realized no one was home."

"Did you break in?"

"I didn't have to. The slider wasn't locked. It was too cold to wait outside, so I decided to take a chance and stay there until Paul came home. I got McDonald's a lot, and I used the shower a couple of times too. But I kind of ran out of money after I ran into some guy on the street and bought some bad weed."

Everything she'd told us thus far—minus the drug deal—meshed with what Stephanie, Ranger and Lula had found at Paul's house as well as the subsequent search by Frances Ling and me.

"I got nervous when no one came home after three days. After five, I began to freak. By yesterday morning—eight days later—I wasn't feeling well. Not having had very good food for so many days, along with that crappy marijuana had me feeling pretty strung out."

Her eyes took on a regretful expression. "I ended up passing out for a few hours on the bed, which is when Stephanie found me."

I stopped pacing, and the room went silent. That was it. I finally had the truth. Paul _hadn't _killed Louie Nagel. And based upon what he'd told me during our consultation earlier, he hadn't killed Myra Flowers or Jason Meachum and his cronies either. The problem was we didn't have any significant leads on either of those cases yet. But thank God for the spunky girl in front of me. Without her, I'd have nothing.

My mind was whizzing at warp speed, thinking about all that needed to be accomplished. I needed to get all of this to Rogers immediately, along with Rodriguez and Davis—most likely the DA too. I had to find time to talk to Richard Samuelson about both Tony and Paul's cases, and I—

"What's going to happen to me?" Jessie whispered frightfully, interrupting my train of thought. She looked back and forth between Robin and me in a panic. "Please, _please _don't send me to one of them foster care houses."

"Shhh…," Robin shushed her reassuringly. "Everything is going to be okay."

I wasn't nearly as certain. The truth was Jessie probably _would _end up in foster care facility of some sort until things could be ironed out. She'd never go home to the house she'd shared with Brian again. Despite her tough exterior, I needed to remember this _was _a teenaged girl, and she was going to be hurting in the days and months ahead.

Jessie began to cry at the thought of going to a strange facility. Flopping down on her side, she allowed huge, racking sobs to overtake her body. Robin looked at her uncertainly for a few moments, debating on what to do. Standing, she pulled me to the side.

"What now?" she asked in a hoarse undertone, concern written all over her face. "Jessie needs help, Morelli."

Running my hands through my hair, I closed my eyes and nodded wearily from the stress. "I know she does, but I don't know what to do. Rogers needs to see the papers and hear the tape immediately, as do Rodriguez and Darryl Davis." I gave her an assessing look. "Have you met Stumpy yet? He's one of the new hires."

She shook her head. "No. We uniforms have had enough of our own shit to wade through after the Kennard fallout."

"He's young, but he's good. The two of them are slated to do the interrogations in—," I paused to glance at my watch, "—about twenty minutes. I need to hurry."

My eyes lit on Jessie, who was getting more upset by the minute.

"Take her to Rogers' office," I commanded. "I'll call up there and ask him if it's okay for her to crash there. At least he has a decent couch she can lay on. Get her something to eat, and call the doctor to come do another examination."

"What about Social Services?"

My gut twisted. At some point they'd have to be called. "Fine—do it, but tell them I want to talk to them too before any decisions are made."

"Okay." She made a move toward Jessie and then turned back, smiling encouragingly. "You did all right with her, Joe. You're going to make a great father."

_Would I? _As much as I wanted to believe her observation, nagging doubt still clung to me like lint on a dryer vent. I wanted so badly to be a good husband and father, but—

"Where are you taking me?" Jessie's hysterical voice once again broke my train of thought.

She resisted Robin, who was trying to ease her up off the cot. Her eyes flew to mine. "You promised you wouldn't arrest me."

"Calm down—you're not being arrested," I said decisively. "Robin is going to take you upstairs to Chief Rogers' office, so you can sleep for a bit."

"Where are _you_ going?" she wondered anxiously, already forming an attachment to both Robin and me.

"I have to meet with Chief Rogers and some of the other detectives," I explained patiently. "I'll be up to check on you in a bit. You did the right thing, Jessie. I know it was incredibly hard to say something against a family member like that, but you told the truth—and it's the only thing that matters."

"Wh—what will happen to Brian?" she asked anxiously.

_How was I to answer? _I hated giving her news it was likely her brother would never step outside of a prison yard again, but if I lied, she'd see right through me.

"Let's take it one step at a time, okay?" I suggested carefully, and yet it was still enough for her to realize she was now essentially alone in the world. The tears immediately rolled harder down her cheeks.

Sometimes my job really sucked.

Robin opened the door to escort Jessie out, and Rodriguez practically stumbled into the room on top of them, carrying an armful of files.

"Jeez, Manny—watch what you're doing," Robin scolded, pulling Jessie safely out of the way.

Rodriguez made a face at Robin, before dismissively turning toward me. "Got to talk to you, man—now."

"I'll be up as soon as I can, Jessie," I called after the girl, who was still crying.

"Hold on, a sec," I said to Manny after he'd shut the door behind Robin and Jessie.

Grabbing my cell, I called up to Rogers' office.

"Rogers." The acting chief's voice sounded gruff and fatigued.

"It's Morelli. I just finished with Jessie. Robin is bringing her up to your office right now to rest if that's okay. She doesn't look all that hot."

"Should she be taken to the hospital?"

"I asked Robin to call the doctor back over here for an exam. In the meantime, I need you down here where Jessie was being housed."

Rogers' entire demeanor changed, going on full alert. "Did she give you anything?"

"The mother lode."

His response was fast and clipped. "I'm on my way."

Disconnecting, I said to Manny, "I was just about to call you."

He ignored my greeting, giving me a shiteater grin instead. "Dude, be glad you're married."

His comment was about the last thing I'd expected. With one eyebrow cocked, I retorted dryly, "I _am _glad, but I'm assuming you have a reason for why I should be?"

He wasted no time. "Because if you weren't, I'd kiss you on the lips!"

My heart gave the same leap as it had when I'd found Stampler's personal log minutes ago. Not because of Manny's sarcasm per se, but because I knew it meant we'd received a break in the case.

"What'd you find?"

He fairly gloated with the news. "Ballistics just came back."

The pounding in my chest grew stronger.

"And? Give me good news, Manny. You don't know how badly I need it."

"Oh, it's good alright." His eyes gleamed against his mocha-colored skin. "The bullet from Tony matches the ones that killed Meachum and the others. It's a lock."

_YES—thank you, God!_

"They're sure?" I demanded, trying to contain my excitement.

"One hundred percent," he confirmed smugly. "But that's not all."

"What?"

"Ling called from Forensics right after you left to go talk with Rogers. Said she found a tiny key on a broken necklace in Meachum's pocket at the warehouse. From the autopsy report, she knew there'd been a mark discovered on the back of Myra Flowers' neck, so she called the ME for verification. Sure enough, underneath her hair was a reddened, welt-like burn where it appears something had been yanked from her."

Frowning, I shook my head. "I don't recall a mark like that from the crime scene."

Thinking back, I remembered Rogers, Ling and I focusing at the bruise on Myra's arm. I'd been worried at how similar it was to the one Tony had given to Stephanie. But Ling had never shown me any mark around the neck area, nor had she told me anything about it when I saw her again that night at Paul's house. Of course the room had been dark. Could that have been the reason for the slip? She was so good; I couldn't think of any other reason.

Manny pulled out a file from beneath his arm. "The mark is listed here on the autopsy report. I think it was the ME who discovered it—not Ling."

That was a pretty significant mistake for our team to have made. _Which of my guys had worked that scene again? _It'd been Gary Docsa—another of our newer hires. _How had he AND Ling both missed it?_

_You're in charge, Morelli. _

My conscience berated me, yet even I knew I was being unfair to myself. It wasn't as though I hadn't already been busy trying to oversee the mess in Newark with the Nagel murder. Still—the mistake gnawed at my perfectionist tendencies as a cop.

"Let's not get crazy here. It could be a key to anything," I pointed out, working to maintain a professional exterior. Inside, I was chomping at the bit.

"Nope—not just anything—a security box," Manny retorted, waggling his eyebrows in anticipation. "And unless I'm crazy, I think there's a box that fits that description downstairs in the evidence room right now. It came in with the stuff we brought in from the warehouse last night."

I gave him a stunned look. "You brought _all _of the warehouse evidence to the precinct? My God, the crates of drugs alone—"

"Not everything. We've got guards over at the building for the big stuff, but we brought all the smaller shit over here to examine. We haven't even had time to begin that process. It's all just sitting down in the evidence room. I told Frances to meet us there with the key."

"Well, what the hell are we waiting for? Let's go."

The door opened and Rogers walked in with an expectant look on his smudged and dirty face. He still hadn't taken the time to clean up, and, without thought, Rodriguez and I took a step backward from the putrid smell of swamp.

"What've you got, Morelli?" he demanded, wasting no time on pleasantries, which was fine by me. My blood pressure still hadn't recovered from our earlier conversation.

"A taped interview with Jessie, implicating her brother for the murder of Louie Nagel."

He immediately shook his head. "All well and good, but you and I both know she's infatuated with Paul and could be willing to say anything. It isn't solid proof—"

"_Along_ with the contents of the so-called 'Morelli file'," I continued, my eyes boring into his. "It's been in Jessie's backpack the entire time."

"Let me see," he ordered, holding out his hand impatiently.

I pulled out a chair from the table. "Have a seat. I'll let you listen and review the information. I'm going down to the evidence room with Rodriguez. We may have a break on the Flowers' murder as well. And we already have a lock on the warehouse murders. The bullet in Tony matches the ones in Meachum and his little posse of goons."

Behind his glasses, Rogers' gaze sharpened. "What's in the evidence room?"

Rodriguez spoke up. "A necklace with a small key was found in Meachum's pocket at the scene, sir. Frances Ling has confirmed with the ME that there are marks on Myra Flowers' neck possibly matching the necklace."

"A DNA test should be performed immediately," the acting chief spoke superiorly.

_Well—duh. Did he seriously think we didn't know the drill?_

Concentrating on facts and not feelings, I said, "There's more. They found a security box at the scene yesterday. We're headed down now to see if the key possibly fits the lock."

Rogers pinned us both with a warning look. "Detectives, you both know there are a million keys and a million boxes in the world." He eyed me specifically. "Don't set your hopes too high."

I managed to hold my tongue. Sensing my annoyance, Manny grabbed my arm. "We'll be back up as soon as we know something, sir. I've got Davis prepping the interrogation rooms right now."

"We're not doing _anything_ further until we've had a chance to sit down and talk this thing through," Rogers informed him crisply. "I don't want to do anything rash, boys—not without getting our ducks in a row first. I'm going to put in a call to Bud Reynolds as well. He deserves to be here, seeing as we're dealing with one of his men."

"Better call Parks Johnson too," I advised bitterly, remembering my last confrontation with the District Attorney earlier in the week. "And I want Richard Samuelson there too."

Rogers surprised me with his agreement. "I'll handle it. You two go on. Meet me in the large conference room when you're done."

We wasted no time doing as he asked, but no sooner were we alone in the hallway than Rodriguez jumped on me. "Are you okay, man? Shit, I haven't been able to get you alone yet. What the heck happened to you at the warehouse yesterday—falling to the ground like that? And what's with all this woo woo stuff with your mind? Do you have a brain tumor or something?"

"_No_, I don't have a brain tumor." I rolled my eyes before setting off down the hallway. "Let's go."

"Seriously, Morelli—you scared the crap out of us. What is going on?"

I waved him off and continued moving. "It's a long story, and we don't have time. But I'm okay. I'll be even better when we nail these bastards and get Paul and Tony exonerated."

We hit the stairwell leading downstairs to the evidence room. Manny tossed me a look of doubt. "Are you sure?"

"I'm fine," I stressed, forcing a smile. The only thing I wanted to concentrate on was how the three cases intersected.

Pete Siedler was waiting for us at the front desk of the evidence room. He immediately stood when he saw me.

"Detective Morelli—good to see you, si—" He floundered, remembering my request not to be called 'sir'. "Are you here to see that watch again?"

"Good to see you too, Pete. No, I'm here on other business. Have you met Manny Rodriguez yet?"

"No, he wasn't on duty when we brought the stuff in last night," Manny replied, sticking out his hand. "Welcome to the force."

Pete flushed. "Thanks."

"We need to see the manifest of the items brought in from the murder scene over at the warehouse near Stark last night," Rodriguez continued.

"Oh, that's a lot of stuff. I saw it when I came on duty this morning," the rookie cop noted eagerly. "It's all still piled up in the back. We haven't even had a chance to start cataloguing it yet." He motioned with his hand. "Come on—I'll show you."

We went into the back of the evidence room and, sure enough, there were boxes upon boxes of items that'd been taken from the crime scene.

My enthusiasm plummeted. "Where the heck do we start?"

"Don't worry. We made a list at the scene." Pulling another file from under his arm, Manny consulted his notes. "It should be in crate twenty-three."

Between the three of us, the box was located and opened. Sure enough, inside was a metal box similar in size to a safety deposit box.

"Where the hell is Ling with the key?" I blustered in frustration.

"Relax, Morelli—I'm here," her cultured voice called out from the front of the room.

Moments later she appeared in street clothes—reminding me that yet another of my fellow cops had willingly come in to work overtime on my behalf.

Frances put on a pair of gloves before pulling the necklace from a small evidence bag she was carrying. Kneeling down, she prepared to slide the key into the security box, but I already knew it was a match. My intuition—both cop and brotherly—was on high alert.

Speaking in a neutral tone, I asked, "How the heck do you think all of us—you, me, Docsa and Rogers all miss that burn mark on the back of her neck?"

Frances shook her head disgustedly, never taking her eyes off the box. "The lighting was too bad in that bedroom, Morelli. It'd be easy for any one of us to berate ourselves over any number of factors, but the simple truth is that it was just too dark."

"She's right. I wasn't there, but I know how good you all are," Rodriguez added his two cents before advising, "Let it go, Morelli."

They were _both_ right. I needed to let the mistake go—for everyone's sake.

With bated breath, we watched as she turned the key, and the box opened to reveal piles of papers and several journals.

"What is all that?" Pete asked naively, craning his neck for a better look.

_Please be evidence. Please be evidence._

"We're hoping like hell it's the evidence we need to blow a case wide open," I responded in a rather hushed tone.

Reaching into the box, I pulled out one of the journals while Rodriguez began to pilfer through the papers. It didn't take more than ten seconds before Manny pumped his fist in the air.

"It's here," he breathed excitedly. This was followed by a little war whoop. "Fucking-A, Morelli—we've got Meachum's records. They're all right here!"

I was too busy looking at Myra's journals to get excited about the accounting. In them, she'd outlined in detail her own journey over the past several years—her life with Meachum, her association with Dorsey, her arrest, her undercover deal with Rogers to serve as an informant with the TPD, as well as her joint affairs with Meachum, Paul and several others.

It was fucking everything.

Flipping to the last page, dated the day she died, I read:

_Wednesday, November 7_

_Where can I run? I'm so far in over my head. If I had the money, I'd escape out west, but I have no way to do it—no money and no transportation. Jason made sure of it all these years. _

_I need to see Chief Rogers again. I need to give him Jason's files and ask for a way to get out of Trenton. Somehow I have to get away and start over. Everything's gone wrong. Why did I ever agree to be an informant? God knows, I gave them what they wanted. I told Rogers about Paul and Jason. I did my penance over working for Jake Dorsey. I tried—I really tried, but in my whole life no has cared about ME—only what they can get from me._

_I'm dead if Jason finds me. He must know by now I have his accounting records. Why did I think stealing them was the smart thing to do? If only I hadn't gotten messed up with Dorsey! No, if only I hadn't gotten involved with Jason all those years ago. Why didn't I listen to my mother when she tried to warn me? If only she were alive, maybe she'd help me escape? I'm hidden in this hellhole of a hotel with no way to pay the bill. Why didn't I insist that Rogers pay me for my service? _

_My only choice is to break into the house. I know where Jason keeps a stash of cash. If I can get lucky—if he's out with the guys searching for Paul, I can get some money and get the hell out of this town—forever. I'm tired of men using me—tired of the games and the drugs and the sex. I'm just tired._

_Please God—please don't let Jason find me. Please let me just get the cash. I'll give the papers to Rogers, and then I'll leave. I'll stay clean. I swear upon my life. Just don't let Jason find me at his house this morning. Otherwise, he'll kill me._

Nausea rolled through me as I read a dead woman's words. Closing my eyes against the sick feelings coursing through me, I studied the last entry Myra had written—a woman doomed by her past choices—used by men all her adult life and yet smart enough to foreshadow her own imminent death. The similarities between her and Jessie were too striking to ignore.

_How could I allow the teen now lying upstairs in Rogers' office to become lost in the foster care system with the very real chance she'd grow up to be used and destroyed like Myra? _Even though I barely knew the girl, I felt an inexplicable responsibility toward her after the roles Paul and Tony had played in leading her astray.

"Morelli, you listening to me?"

Manny's voice pierced through my convicting thoughts.

Pinching the bridge of my nose with the forefingers of one hand, I nodded. "Yeah."

"It's all of Meachum's books—the whole operation," he enthused.

"I know." My voice sounded gruff to my own ears.

I was still reeling from the journal. So many people—so much greed, sickness and sadness I was witnessing both professionally and personally. The futility of it all hit me, and out of the blue I was overcome by a wave of sorrow.

_What kind of ugly world was I about to bring two innocent children into? How were Stephanie and I supposed to protect them from these kinds of choices and tragedy? Hadn't I experienced enough traumas in my own life from my father's addictions and poor choices? Was there a possibility I would continue the legacy with my own family?_

The sobering thoughts churned in my brain, scaring me to death.

Clearing my throat, I looked around at Manny, Pete and Frances, who stared back at me with expectation and concern. I needed to show them leadership—not lack of focus. Despite my elation at having the proof required to clear Paul, my voice was subdued when I continued.

"I have Myra's journals here. She talks about having taken the accounting records to give to Rogers for proof. She broke into Meachum's house to steal cash in order to try and escape Trenton. She predicted that if he found her, he'd kill her."

"The partial prints found on her body _could _be Meachum's," Ling pointed out carefully.

"And they could just as easily be someone else's," I countered, well aware of the drill. "We don't have a smoking gun here like we do with Bulldog and Tony, but I think there's enough evidence to prove Paul had nothing to do with Myra's death."

"Let's get this upstairs to Rogers," Rodriguez suggested. "We've got a lot to work through before Davis and I can begin those interrogations."

"Okay," I agreed somewhat distractedly. I was still having a hard time finding my groove after reading that journal entry, along with the terrifying realization it could just as easily have been Paul.

I looked at Frances. "Nice forensics work, Ling—all the way around."

"I'm sorry about missing that burn—"

"Stop. I don't want to hear another word about it. You and Rodriguez were both right. It _was_ dark in there, and we _are_ the best at what we do." When she still looked miserable, I murmured the same words Manny had used with me. "Let it go, Frances."

She nodded, and I turned to Officer Siedler.

"Pete—thanks for your help down here. We'll let you get to work now."

We all moved toward the door.

"Stay close, okay Frances?" I requested. "We may need you to come and clarify your findings with Rogers."

She grimaced. "Will do. I'll finish up my report on Flowers and get to work on the warehouse murders."

"Sounds good." I gave Manny a single nod. "Let's go."

Heading back upstairs to the conference room where we were to meet, I was surprised to see Rogers and Reynolds already there, along with Darryl Davis. They were finishing up listening to my taped interrogation of Jessie. As soon as Rodriguez and I walked in, Rogers slapped the "off" button and immediately pounced.

"Did the key match?"

"Yeah."

His eyes widened in surprise. "What've you got?"

"Meachum's books and Myra's journals." I set the contents of the security box onto the table before taking a seat and acknowledging Chief Reynolds. "Good to see you again, sir."

Reynolds leaned back in his chair. "You too, son. You've been busier than a hound at a flea convention these past few days. Your little lady doing any better?"

"I spoke to her a while ago," I offered succinctly. "She's coming down with a cold, but hopefully the preventative antibiotics they're giving her will ward off any pneumonia."

"Well, now that's right encouraging," he nodded his full head of hair. Leaning forward, he picked up Meachum's accounting file. "Let's take a look at what you boys found downstairs, shall we?"

"Is the DA coming?" I asked Rogers, who was already thumbing through one of Myra's journals.

"He'll be here soon," he responded absently.

"Take a look at her last entry. It was written right before she was killed," I suggested grimly and watched with no satisfaction when Rogers' face paled at seeing Myra's dire plea for help in getting out of the mess she'd made of her life.

We spent the next hour reviewing all of the information discovered that morning, including a review of the forensic, toxicology and ballistic reports from each of the three murder sites.

When we were finished, Reynolds leaned back in his chair and let out a tired breath. "Well, you've convinced me. There's no way Detective Stampler wasn't involved in this somehow—Bruce Jackson as well." Running a hand across his face, he continued, "What do you think, Brett?"

My eyes were practically boring a hold through the tabletop waiting for the acting chief to respond. _Would he continue to play the political bullshit game or act like the cop I'd once thought him to be?_

"I think it's a mess," he answered honestly, his voice tinged with sadness, "and I'm having a hard time getting past my role in all of it."

My head lifted in surprise. While I couldn't bring myself to look at Rogers, I swallowed back a feeling of begrudging respect.

He was still a cop.

There was a brief knock at the door before District Attorney Parks Johnson entered the room, dressed in pressed blue jeans and a preppy, button down oxford. The brash, young attorney and I had gotten off on the wrong foot at our meeting in Roger's office the previous Monday. I couldn't imagine he was any happier to see me than I was at seeing him.

Tony's attorney Richard Samuelson closely followed him into the room. His inquisitive gaze immediately sought mine. He too was wondering why he'd been summoned to the precinct on a Saturday afternoon. Giving him a small smile and a slight shake of the head, I nodded toward the empty chair across from me.

"Alright, I'm here," the district attorney huffed, dropping his briefcase onto the table with a dramatic thud. "What's so important that it couldn't wait until Monday?"

A table of steely-eyed stares met his question.

Rogers was the first to respond. "A lot has happened since our meeting on Monday, Parks. It's time to bring you up to speed on a number of things."

In a clear, concise manner, Rogers began to outline everything that had transpired throughout the week, including the additional murders of Myra Flowers, Jason Meachum and all his cronies as well as what had gone down in the swamp yesterday and the arrests of Bulldog, Stampler and Paul. Afterward, he allowed both attorneys to listen to my interrogation with Jessie and review both Stampler's and Myra's journals.

For the first time in almost two months, I felt a sense of pride—small as it was—in my boss. He wasn't merely acting the part of a leader, but instead he was actually _leading_. His self-assuredness was apparent and reminded me of why I'd supported him as interim chief in the first place.

Parks Johnson wasn't nearly as impressed. He didn't even wait for Rogers to finish before attacking.

"What the fuck is the meaning of all this?" he demanded, practically jumping across the table toward Rogers. "Why wasn't I notified immediately when these murders took place? Why am I just now hearing about what happened yesterday? This is outrageous!"

"Settle down," Rogers advised coolly.

"I will _not_. I don't know what the hell kind of game you think you're playing, Rogers, but I'd watch it if I were you. The TPD can't tolerate any more black eyes. I had every right to know what was happening—"

"Are you threatening me, Counselor?"

"If you plan on withholding evidence from me—"

"We informed you when we had something cohesive to offer you," the chief interrupted firmly. "For God's sake—most of this just happened in the last twenty-four hours."

The DA shot me a heated glare out of the corner of his eye before staring Rogers down. "And what the heck did you think you were accomplishing by allowing Morelli to be so intimately involved with all this? For Christ's sake, he's the brother of TWO suspects. This whole thing _reeks _of collusion!"

Exchanging looks with Rodriguez and Davis, I opened my mouth to defend myself against the pompous district attorney, but Bud Reynolds beat me to it.

"Counselor, it seems to me you're studyin' to be a half-wit," the burly-haired cowboy intoned dryly, "and I'm afraid you ain't gonna make it."

Johnson's face turned red with lividness at such a bold statement.

"How _dare _you!" he huffed in exasperation.

Reynolds turned to Rogers, ignoring the DA's outburst. "I apologize for stepping in, Brett."

Rogers' only response was the wave of a hand and a barely contained smile. "Be my guest."

"Well alright then." Reynolds' face was deadly serious when he faced Johnson. "You ain't thinkin' straight, Parks."

"I beg your pardon?" Johnson returned in the same prissy, affronted tone.

"No beggin' necessary," the Newark Chief shot back steadily. "I've known your daddy a long time. He's a fine attorney. You undoubtedly come from good stock, Counselor."

He shifted in his seat, leaning closer. "But, God Almighty, boy—you know as well as I do that when things get cookin' on the front burner, you don't stop to make biscuits. Truth is—Detective Morelli may just be the best-goddamned cook in Trenton. You don't have him take off his apron just because the kitchen's a little messy. You let him prepare a feast, which is exactly what he did for us."

Johnson looked at him in total confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm _sayin'_—your engine's runnin' but ain't nobody driving. Use that smart head of yours, Counselor and _think _about what these boys have been up to for the past five days. Morelli and his men have handed us that feast on a silver platter, and I for one ain't about to turn down a homecooked meal."

Richard Samuelson spoke up. "I don't know anything about kitchens and feasts, but I _do_ know this evidence clearly exonerates _both _of my clients. Neither one of them had anything to do with murder, and Paul Morelli should be released immediately."

"To hell with that!" the DA growled, shoving his briefcase to the side. "We don't know if any of this is true, let alone the fact that Morelli was operating within a known drug operation."

"He _thought_ he was working for the NPD," Samuelson reminded him.

"But he wasn't now, was he," Johnson sneered back at his fellow litigator.

Reynolds frowned across the table. "It's true Paul Morelli wasn't sanctioned to be an NPD informant." Noting Johnson's smug expression, he hastened to continue, "_However_–in light of all that we've learned today, I have no intention of pursuing criminal proceedings in my jurisdiction. I have a bad cop on my hands to deal with. I don't need any other bullshit trouble."

Johnson sputtered, "But Detective Morelli—"

"Did his job," Chief Rogers inserted forcefully. Without sparing me a glance, he continued, "He did his job and did it well—no thanks to me. And while I agree that his involvement in this whole mess has been questionable, the fact remains he _did _the job. All of my men did. I'm proud of these boys."

My eyebrow slid up as I glanced at Rodriguez, who was barely containing his amusement over the DA's dressing down. In contrast, Stumpy sat beside him wide-eyed and pale. Evidently, he hadn't been exposed to too much warfare at his former precinct.

I wasn't quite certain how I felt about Rogers' impassioned observation. Unquestionably, I was still hurt and bitterly angry with him for both the past—and present—but at the same time, I couldn't help but admire how he was handling this political minefield. Well used to watching the brass fight things out, I allowed myself to soak in the familiarity of cop speak without getting involved.

"Chief, I want Paul Morelli released," Samuelson insisted bullishly to Rogers. "I agree he made some incredibly poor choices, but he _didn't_ commit murder. The warrant for his arrest went out on Monday. Having just been found yesterday, he never went through a prelim and no bond was set on him. In my mind, you have the power to let him go."

"This is crazy!" Johnson objected.

"Counselor, you seem to have a big hat but no cattle," Brett Rogers said out of the corner of his mouth, shocking all of us with his fair imitation of Reynolds. "There isn't a person here wanting to follow you."

Reynolds laughed and slapped the table in front of him. "By God, that's a good one, Brett!" He continued to laugh while the district attorney glared.

Finally, I couldn't hold my silence any longer.

"Parks," I said as calmly as possible, calling his attention toward me from down the length of the table.

The blue-blooded, little prick turned his face in my direction, asking sullenly. "What?"

"I don't blame you for being pissed," I began with as much sincerity as I could muster. "You're right that a lot happened this week you should've been made apprised of. But it wasn't a cover-up or a game or an act of collusion. Samuelson here only found out about it last night himself when my sister called him to represent Paul."

Johnson's stare was cold and unyielding.

I went on, "If you could set aside your hard feelings toward me for one minute, you'd see that—as Chief Reynolds put it—the TPD _and _the NPD just handed you a rock solid case for the murders of Louie Nagel, Myra Flowers and Jason Meachum and crew."

He glowered at me. "Where do you get off trying to tell me—?"

"You can start cooking with us in the kitchen, or you can go out to eat by yourself," I forged ahead purposefully. Softening my tone even further, I added, "Personally, I hope you choose the former. Chief Reynolds is right—you're a good attorney, but we need you prosecuting the hell out of the right people—Brian Stampler and Bruce Jackson."

He opened his mouth, and I held up my hand to prevent him from speaking.

"You and I may not agree on a damned thing, but the truth is my brother Tony is fighting for his life over at Helene Fuld right this minute. He took a bullet yesterday while trying to save my wife, my children and me. He may very well not make it."

I watched Johnson's face closely, looking for a shred of compassion, but his face was an unreadable mask.

"At the very least, Paul should be put on trial for statutory rape," he groused petulantly.

"Quit beatin' a dead dog, Counselor," Reynolds ordered. "It's time for all of us to close the book on this nightmare."

Still watching Johnson, I allowed even more honesty to leak out. "Tony and Paul both made some hellacious mistakes, and, truthfully, I have my own anger issues to work through with them. But putting them in jail is _not _going to fix anything. They simply didn't commit these murders. I'm asking you to drop this fight, so we can concentrate our efforts on helping you build a solid case against the real criminals here."

The room fell silent for several uncomfortable moments, while the district attorney chewed on the inside of his cheek, deep in thought.

Finally, he conceded, "I'm willing to agree to the release of Paul Morelli, but Tony is still going to need to face Judge Shepherd. He committed a felony by not making his preliminary hearing."

_Yes—thank God!_

Rogers immediately responded. "Agreed."

For the first time, I allowed my eyes to meet Rogers' penetrating gaze. _What would this mean for Tony? Would he even survive long enough to go before the judge? _Rogers apparently read my mind for he shook his head negligibly. He was right—now was not the time to question anything when we'd just been granted a major victory.

"I want copies of all this evidence in my office no later than Monday morning," Parks ordered loftily. His next comment was directed toward me. "And I want some sort of written warning in Paul's file. If he so much as sneezes wrong, I'm going after him for something. What the hell it'll be, I don't know, but I'll find something—believe me."

I managed to bite my tongue. No way was I going to give the little turd the chance to change his mind.

After several more minutes of political nonsense, both attorneys took their leave. No sooner had they left, than Reynolds observed, "Damn—that boy had my patience runnin' thinner than an Amish phone book."

For the first time in two days, I felt myself relaxing enough to laugh with the others. _My God—Paul was free! _ I could hardly believe it.

Clearing my throat, I included both chiefs in a grateful sweep of the eyes. "Thank you, sirs. My family thanks you as well."

"Nothing to thank us for, son. It's the right thing," Reynolds answered warmly.

Rogers kept quiet, looking down at Myra Flowers' journal in front of him. We both knew there was a long way to go before the rift between us could be healed—_if _that notion was even a possibility.

"I'll go make the arrangements for Paul to be released," Rodriguez offered. He and Stumpy both stood. "And then we'll get to work on going through this evidence."

"It'll keep until Monday," I said firmly. "Go home. You both deserve the rest."

Manny shrugged. "Your call, boss. You gonna take your brother with you when you leave?"

"I'll come back for him," I said, "but there's something I need to do first."

Jerking my head subtlety toward the door, I waited until my team members left the room before broaching the next topic with the two chiefs of police.

"I want to talk about Jessie," I began assertively.

Reynolds immediately moved to stand, "I'll go, so you two can talk."

"No—stay," Rogers requested, holding out his hand to stop his colleague. "What about her, detective?"

"You heard her on that tape. The kid is scared to death of being put into the foster care system."

They both nodded.

"It can't be helped, Morelli. You know that," Rogers said quietly.

Sighing heavily, I grimaced. "I _do _know it, but I can't just abandoned her. My idiot brothers are partially responsible for her mental state. How can I turn my back on that?"

Reynolds ran a hand around the back of his neck. "What exactly are you driving at, son?"

"I think I know a place where she can stay—at least for awhile, until we can figure something out permanently. She needs a place where she can be fed and watched over and loved. Christ—that girl is begging to be loved by someone in a healthy way."

Rogers' eyebrows shot up. "You certainly aren't thinking that you and Stephanie should take care of her, are you? Not only would that be inadvisable, given your relationship to Paul, but your wife is in the hospital—"

"It wouldn't be us, and it wouldn't be anyone in my immediate family," I hastened to assure them.

"What exactly to you have in mind then?" Rogers asked skeptically.

"I want to call in Child Protective Services," I said and then proceeded to spill forth my idea.

* * *

Two hours later I pulled up in front of the Plum household. The sturdy row house was bathed in fading twilight, and I could see Grandma Mazur and Helen in their usual sentry positions at the front windows.

Turning off the truck, I turned to Jessie. "Ready?"

She gave me a sullen glare. "What the hell am I supposed to do here with people I don't even know?"

I did a mental eye roll. The kid was full of attitude and hadn't stopped complaining since we'd left the station with the social worker's blessing for her to stay—at least temporarily—with Stephanie's parents. And yet, fear and insecurity were written all over her face.

The poor thing was using attitude to cover fear, reminding me of my own rebellious youth.

"Mr. and Mrs. Plum are really nice people and easy to get along with," I informed her, softening my voice.

I hoped the latter statement proved to be true. After all—_nothing_ was a sure thing with the Plums, except maybe having dinner at six o'clock.

We both climbed out of the car and headed up the walkway. Jessie was carrying her backpack and still wearing the clothing she'd borrowed from Robin. Until someone could get to Newark, they were the only clothes she had.

She paused and cast a longing look down the empty sidewalk leading away from the house.

"Don't even think about it," I warned seriously. "I'm doing this for you, Jessie, because you said you didn't want to go to a foster care facility. I'm trying to give you a break here. I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same for me."

"But this is the same damned thing as foster care!' she fairly sneered back. "It'll be like a prison."

"No, it won't—not if you do your part and try to get along. Mrs. Plum is an amazing cook. She'll feed you until you feel nice and healthy again."

"But they're all _old_," she complained loudly. "And you said there's a Grandma too? What the hell am I supposed to do with a Grandma? _Sheee-it._"

"I'd lose the swearing if I were you," I advised dryly. "And try to show a little gratitude, would ya? Jeez, these are my brand new in-laws. I'm going out on a huge limb here as it is."

"Hunh!" she responded noncommittally.

The door opened before we could reach it, and Helen appeared in the entryway with a more than eager Edna peeking out from behind her.

"Joseph! How's Stephanie?" my mother-in-law asked breathlessly, reaching out to drag me into the house. Immediately realizing her faux pas with regard to Burg manners, she blushed and smiled at Jessie, adding, "Forgive me. Hello, Jessie. I'm Mrs. Plum, and this is my mother Mrs. Mazur—"

Edna stepped out and eyed Jessie's backpack. "Call me Edna. Say, what'cha got in that thing anyway? I heard you were into drugs. You got any in there? I've always wanted to see drugs up close and personal. Best I've ever managed is to smell Loretta's grandson's socks after he left him at her house one day. The smell of reefer about cleaned our sinuses out for a month!"

Glaring at Stephanie's grandmother, I hastily jumped in. "I'm sure it was sweat you smelled, Edna—_not _marijuana."

"And how mortifying to think you sat around with your friends smelling some poor, unsuspecting teenager's socks!" Helen scolded.

"Better than sitting around smokin' the whacky tobaccy!" Grandma Mazur retorted before tugging on Jessie's hand. "Come on, I'll show you where you're sleeping. It's right next to my room."

Without waiting for an answer, she fairly dragged Jessie from the entryway toward the stairs, ignoring the girl's stunned and slightly desperate glance over her shoulder at me.

"That's Frank in the family room watching TV," Edna ran on as they headed toward the stairs. "He's about the biggest bore you'd ever want to meet—"

"I heard that, you old bat!" Frank hollered, but Edna kept going.

"Don't pay any attention to him. He won't do you no harm. Just make sure you get up early to get first crack at the bathroom, otherwise you'll be waiting for _hours_!"

Her voice trailed off, and I was left with Helen staring expectantly at me.

"Um—thanks for agreeing to house Jessie for a few days," I offered somewhat nervously. "I know she's in good hands with you."

Helen frowned. "It's disgraceful! The poor girl is nothing but skin and bones. What kind of treatment is that from our own TPD—?"

"Her health deteriorated long before yesterday," I returned calmly, steering her back on track. "Now you're going to have to watch her like a hawk. She'll want to make a run for it, so I need you to keep an eye on the doors and window."

"Don't you worry," Helen replied sagely. "I raised two teenaged girls. I know _exactly _what to do."

My anxiety increased. _What had I been thinking by taking on this responsibility—especially knowing all the trouble Stephanie had caused her own mother as a teen. Crap!_

"That may be, but times have changed, and believe it or not, it's even tougher now."

Her tone took on a sarcastic edge. "Times haven't changed _that _much." Seeing my look of despair, she went on. "Fine—I'll have Frank sleep on the couch tonight."

Clearing my throat, I addressed my next concern. "And you might want to keep an eye on Grandma Mazur too. Uh—the goal here is to rehabilitate Jessie's future—not glorify her past mistakes."

Helen gave me a pretty damned good Burg eye roll. "Don't worry. I'll have _her_ under control too."

I pulled out my wallet. "About clothes—"

She waved me off. "She looks about Val's size. I'm sure we'll be able to find a few leftovers up in her closet until you can get to Newark for her things."

"Okay," I nodded slowly.

The events of the past two days had finally caught up with me, and I slumped against the doorframe to the dining room.

"Are you okay?" Stephanie's mother asked. She brushed her hand fondly across my forehead, and for that brief moment, I longed for my own mother's loving touch. _Would things between the two of us ever be the same again?_

Shaking off the melancholy and the fatigue, I straightened. "I'm fine. Just tired. I need to get back to Steph."

"I'm worried about her and the babies."

"Me too," I admitted, "but I trust Dr. Hamilton, and he seems to think she's going to make a full recovery."

"I was there around lunch time. Gave her a piece of upside down cake."

Both sides of my mouth curled. "I'm sure she loved it."

Helen gave me the fish eye. "I can't say I was too thrilled to see that Ranger character there visiting _nor _the psychiatrist you and Stephanie have latched onto."

"It's all under control," I assured her, inching toward the door. I was nowhere near ready to have either of _those _conversations.

"_Hunh," _she grunted. "Can you stay for dinner?"

"No—no. I need to get back to the precinct and pick up Paul. He's being released tonight."

"What?" she cried, completely dumbfounded. "How did that—?"

"It's a long story, but we have clear proof neither he nor Tony did anything illegal—stupid for sure—but nothing criminal."

Her lips pressed into a tight line. I knew damned well how she felt about the 'Morelli boys' and didn't need the additional hassle of hearing her disapproval.

She tilted her head and said diffidently, "Well, I'm at least glad you're not going to have to deal with the embarrassment of two brothers going to prison."

Leaning forward I dropped a kiss on her compressed lips. "I really have to go. I want to get back to the hospital as fast as I can. I'll stop by tomorrow to check on Jessie. Call me right away if anything happens in the meantime."

Before she could respond, Jessie and Edna reappeared followed closely by Frank. Noticing Jessie's immediate and fearful glance toward Stephanie's father, I again questioned my decision to get involved with her rehabilitation. The girl had more issues than _any_ of us were capable of handling.

Frank surprised me by stepping forward with his hand extended.

"I'm Frank. You like football?"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Yeah. Who doesn't? Why you askin'?"

"No particular reason. Just watching the last of the college games before Helen serves dinner. Thought maybe you'd like to watch. That is—unless you'd rather help in the kitchen. We eat at six around here."

The offer had practically been a full-fledged speech—for Frank.

Jessie continued to eye him doubtfully and turned a hesitant gaze upon me as well.

"Go on—you'll enjoy it," I encouraged. "I need to check on Stephanie. I'll be back tomorrow though to see how you're getting along. In the meantime, you have my number."

She bit her lip, and again I was reminded of just how young she truly was. _How could Tony and Paul have been so stupid!_

"Come on—I'll watch football too," Edna offered sincerely. "Nothing like watching a bunch of grown men running around in tight pants!"

The three of them headed into the family room, leaving me once again with Helen.

She turned toward the kitchen. "Let me at least send some food back with you."

"No—but thanks. I really need to get going."

She studied my face, reading between the lines. "You've been carrying quite a load of stress these past two weeks. Stephanie hasn't told me a darn thing, but I'm a mother. I know."

The truth was she had no idea what I'd been dealing with for the past two _months_—the depth of torture over the Kennard case, Stephanie's deceit, the paternity test—God, my own family's treachery. _What would she think if she knew what really had happened the day I'd lured her daughter into my parent's garage?_

"I'm okay," I assured her. "Let's just concentrate on getting Steph and the babies home, okay?"

She shook her head. "You're foolish if you think I only care about their well-being." She waited until my eyes met hers. "_You're _my son now, Joseph. I love you just as much."

My throat threatened to close with emotion, a sensation that had occurred more often in the past two weeks than it had in my entire life to that point. Hopefully I wasn't going soft in my old age. The last thing Trenton needed was an emotional vice and homicide detective.

Taking her hand, I brought the palm of it to my lips. "Thank you."

She blushed. "Go on—we'll take good care of the girl."

Smiling, I agreed. "I know."

* * *

Paul was waiting for me in my cubby of an office with Rodriguez when I returned to the precinct. Upon seeing me, he practically leapt from his chair.

"Joey—thank God." He grabbed me in a huge bear hug, ignoring Manny's presence. "You did it, man. You did it! Thank you!"

I offered him a sincere hug in return. "It was a team of people who pieced together the evidence. You have a lot of people to thank, including this guy right here."

Paul extended his hand to Rodriguez. "Dude—thanks. You'll never know how much I appreciate it."

"If I were you, I'd make some different lifestyle choices," Manny returned coolly. "You're being given a second chance on life, Paul. Don't screw it up."

Paul scowled slightly, but nodded in agreement. "No need to worry. I'm turning a corner. No more boozing with Tony—"

"And no more women," I stressed harshly. "Come on, let me take you home. I need to get back to the hospital."

"No—take me there, will you?" he requested quietly. "I want to see Tony."

"I'm not so sure—"

He glared at me. "Joey—he's my brother _and _my best friend. Let me see him, for Christ's sake."

I shrugged. "You can come to the hospital with me, but I'm not taking you home."

"No problem."

Turning to Manny, I said, "Go home, Rodriguez. I don't want to see your face until Monday."

He gave me a jaunty salute and a slanted grin. "Aye, aye, sir."

Rolling my eyes, I said to Paul. "Let's go."

We hadn't even turned the first corridor when Paul started in with, "I am going to turn my life around, Joey. You wait and see. No more drinking and _definitely _no more drugs."

"And no more women," I repeated firmly. "You've got a great wife and kids, Paul. If Adrienne will take you back, you need to get counseling—"

"Counseling—no way!" he said sourly. "That's for sissy boys. I can do it on my own."

Without warning, I had him up against the wall. "Listen, you ungrateful asshole! I just left your latest conquest over at the Plum's house."

His eyes widened. "Jessie? Let me see her!"

"Are you fucking nuts?" I bellowed, not caring who heard me. "No! She's nothing but a frightened kid, Paul—" I shook him harder. "—a goddamned _kid!"_

He struggled against my grip, eyeing my fellow cops who'd stopped in the hallway to watch.

"Joey," he choked out hoarsely.

"Shut up—and listen to me!" I insisted, giving him a little shake for emphasis. "You have an amazing life right in front of you if you'd only open your blind eyes and _see_ it for yourself!"

Realizing I was getting nowhere, I released my hold and shoved him aside. "Come on—I don't have the time or the energy to deal with you right now. Do me a favor and just don't talk."

* * *

It was a silent ride over to the hospital. By the time we stopped at Pino's for the requested meatball sub, drove to the medical complex, parked and found our way inside the building, it was well past seven o'clock. I lead Paul through the maze of corridors to the surgical intensive care unit. A new face was working the night shift at the front station—another older nurse, only this one looked as though she could be charmed.

Putting on my best smile, I leaned over the counter. "Pardon me, I'm Detective Morelli—"

"Yes, I know who you are, detective," the woman responded sardonically. "I've been instructed on who all of your family members are _and_ to watch out for trouble.

_Great—we'd now been classified as troublemakers._

"How is Tony?" I asked in concern.

She consulted her chart. "Still no change. He remains unconscious, but his vitals are good. I sent his wife home earlier and his mother and grandmother down to the cafeteria for some dinner about thirty minutes ago."

"Well, this is another brother—Paul," I introduced. "He's been—uh—away, and hasn't been able to see Tony yet. Would it be okay for him to slip in for a couple of minutes?"

"Certainly, detective. Right this way."

"No, it'll just be him," I corrected. "I need to get this food—"

"Come with me!" Paul hissed in my ear. "I don't want to see him by myself."

Immediately, I shook my head. "No."

"Joey—please," he begged without embarrassment.

The night nurse looked at me with compassion. "I know your wife is upstairs, detective. How about if I take the food up to her floor, so the nurse can have a doctor give approval. Perhaps she can nuke it too, so it'll be a little warmer when you get up there."

Going in to see Tony with Paul was the last thing I wanted to do right then, but the nurse had her hands on the bag of food before I could protest.

"Go on," she encouraged, not knowing what she was asking of me.

Letting out a huge sigh of exhaustion and dread, I led the way down the hall to Tony's room. Paul gasped as soon as we walked in. The sight of Tony wrapped in a spider web of tubes and wires was truly gut wrenching.

He gave a short intake of air. "My God."

"I know."

"I had no idea it was this bad."

"What did you expect? He was shot point blank in the stomach."

"I don't know," Paul responded dazedly, "but it wasn't this. Oh shit, Joey. Oh fuck, man—this can't be happening—_not _to Tony. God, this is all my fault!"

He stepped forward to take Tony's hand. Without conscience thought, I slipped around to the other side of the bed to take the other.

"Tone—it's me—Paulie." His voice hitched. "What the fuck you doing here, man? This is crazy. You're Tony Morelli—the baddest boy in the Burg. Wake up already, would ya?" He gulped hard and grabbed onto my free hand for support.

Standing there with my hands locked in those of my brothers, I felt an inexplicable sense of peace flow through me for the first time in three weeks—since I'd last seen Tony and Paul together in Barbados for the wedding. The bitter anger and resentment I felt toward them both—and the rest of my family—was still palpable, but for now I was reminded that these _were _my brothers. Through good times and bad, sickness and health, they'd stood by me and tried their best to give me something they'd both lacked themselves—a father figure.

"Thank you," I whispered out of nowhere, surprising both Paul and myself.

"For what?" he asked uncertainly.

I was embarrassed and more than a little uncomfortable, but bravely forged ahead. "Thank you both for all that you did for me as a kid," I acknowledged. "Tony saved my life against Rocco. I know that now."

"Joey, it was for your own good that we didn't—"

"I don't want to talk about it now," I interrupted firmly, my tone rising slightly. "I just want you both to know I'm not ungrateful."

Paul's voice rose as well. "Joe—"

"Goddamn it, Paul. Can you just shut up and let me say thanks?" I demanded hotly.

"You're…wel—come," a groggy voice responded instead.

Paul and I stopped everything and looked down at Tony, who was staring up at us through bleary eyes.

He was awake—and alive.


	27. Chapter 27

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Well, this is it folks...the last chapter. I won't say much here, but I have a "few things" in an A/N at the bottom. LOL!

Here we go!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"My God! Tony?" I murmured incredulously. _He'd spoken—but how?_

Looking more closely, I realized for the first time he was no longer attached to the ventilator he'd been on that morning. The night nurse hadn't informed us, and Paul and I had been too distracted upon our arrival to notice.

Relief skittered through me. No ventilator _had _to be a good sign!

"Tone!" Paul exclaimed at my side, gripping both our hands more tightly. "You're awake."

"Wh—happen?" he slurred groggily. His eyes opened and closed several times in an effort to get his bearings, but it was no use. The drugs were too powerful.

"Shhh…don't try to talk," I instructed. Turning to Paul, I added in an undertone, "Go tell the nurse. His doctor will want to see him immediately.

Paul wasted no time hustling out of the room. Meanwhile, Tony continued to fight the urge to go back to whatever state of unconsciousness he'd been in.

"Joey," he rasped. "Not safe. Paul—"

I squeezed his fingers. "It's okay. Paul is safe. I'm safe—"

"Steph?"

"Is safe—and so are the babies. Everyone is okay. You need to rest though. We can talk more later—"

"No!" he protested a little more forcefully, his voice gaining strength. "Now. Wh—what happened to me?"

Running my free hand around my neck, I debated on whether to tell him or not. God knows I didn't want to be the one to break the news.

"Joe!" he insisted hoarsely.

_Shit._

"The man who took Stephanie—Bruce Jackson, otherwise known as Bulldog, shot you in the stomach," I offered reluctantly.

He grimaced. "Hurts—like—hell."

Swallowing hard, I continued, "They had to take one of your kidneys. You—you almost didn't make it."

Tony moved his head slightly, closing his eyes against the pain. "Too stubborn."

I let out a little snort. "You're a Morelli."

_And so am I._

"Paul arrested?"

"He was, but he's been cleared of all charges. We have mounds of evidence, but I'll tell you about it later, okay? Right now—"

The door opened, and in walked Paul followed closely by Dr. Trombley, Tony's surgeon, and the night nurse.

"Mr. Morelli—this is a most welcome surprise," Dr. Trombley enthused. "Quite frankly, I'm stunned. You gave all of us quite a scare last night."

I immediately stood to make space for the medical personnel, while Paul slunk to the back of the room and pressed his body up against the glass wall. He looked gray from the shock of what his selfish actions had caused. The way he ran a hand continually over his mouth, I was afraid he'd vomit at any moment.

My heart thumped hard when Ma and Grandma Bella pushed their way through the door. Another family reunion was so _not _what I needed right then.

"Anthony!" Ma cried out, seeing her oldest child lying there with his eyes half opened. She rushed forward to brush kisses over Tony's face. "Ringraziarla, Dio!" she cried, bursting into tears. "Thank you, God. Thank you!"

"Hey, Ma," he responded weakly.

"Mrs. Morelli—please," Dr. Trombley ordered not unkindly. "Let me take a good look at your son before you maul him to death." He smiled to take the sting out of his words.

"Angela," Bella said in a slightly awed voice, walking toward Paul. "There are others here."

Ma had been so focused on Tony; she'd yet to see either Paul or me standing off to the side. Turning, she gave a sharp intake of breath. "Oh dear God—Paul!" Flinging herself forward, she fell into his arms openly weeping. "Paulie, you're here!"

Paul lifted her clear off the floor in a bear hug. "It's good to see you, Ma—you too, Grandma," he added, leaning awkwardly to give Bella a kiss on the cheek. "I feel terrible about the trouble I've caused—"

"Enough!" Ma hastily cut him off, hugging him again. "Not now. Not when I've just received an answer to prayer—_both _of my sons back safely."

Without letting go of Paul, Ma flung her right arm toward me, trying to include me in the embrace. She pinned me with a tearful, loving gaze. "Joseph, you did this. You brought _both _my boys back to me."

My heart and head were like taffy being pulled in opposite directions—one completely drawn by the warmth of my _mother_ and the other coldly wanting to distance myself from her and the rest of the family. The hurt inside me was both childish _and _very adult in nature. I was nowhere near ready to forgive and forget.

Stepping back, I said evenly, "A whole team of people worked to free Tony and Paul, Ma—not just me. Those two were damned lucky to have so many professionals willing to put everything on the line for them."

Her star struck expression dimmed considerably at my lack of affection. Guilt immediately assuaged me for she was truly crestfallen. Damn it, I had to get out of there before I said or did anything worse.

"I have to go," I announced abruptly, looking at the door. "Maybe Ma will take you home, Paul. I need to get to Stephanie."

"Hey, Joey, you don't have to—"

Ma slipped out of Paul's arms. "No—don't go. I want to hear what happened—"

"I _have _to go." The enunciated words sounded harsh to my own years. I _hated _the wall that'd been erected between us, but I had neither the inclination nor the energy to try and tear it down.

"Leave him be, Angela," Bella advised firmly, studying me closely, "Let him get to his wife and babies."

I tossed her a grateful glance. Her strange support was something else I'd have to ponder at a later time.

Ma bit her lip, tears still sliding down her cheeks. I felt like an ass, but didn't know what else to do. I simply couldn't stay in there any longer. Slipping around the side of the bed, I found an open spot next to the nurse and placed my hand on Tony's arm. His eyes were closed once more, and I wasn't even certain if he was still awake.

"I'm heading up to see Steph, Tony. I'll be back in the morning to check on you."

His eyes remained shut, but he responded faintly. "Sounds good. Thanks."

Remorse threatened to choke the life out of my heart. "Thank _you_." To the nurse, I added, "I'll be upstairs with my wife if anything changes."

Moving purposefully to the door, I had my fingers on the handle when Paul came up beside me, putting his lips near my ear.

"Why the hell are you acting like this? Look what you're doing to Ma?" he hissed, eyes like mine blazing furiously.

I couldn't even look at him. Pressing the heel of my palm to my eye, I managed. "Now is not the time. I'm thankful you're free and safe, Paul—I really am. But I'm going to be with my wife now. I suggest you do the same."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_What the hell was I doing?_

Standing outside of Tank's place, I'd already raised and lowered my hand twenty times deciding whether or not to knock. My best friend wasn't even home. He was still at Rangeman following up on all of the items we'd discussed at the company meeting earlier that evening. Afterward, he'd made an idle comment to me about Lula having had a rough day, and I'll be damned if twenty minutes later I hadn't found myself in the car—without conscious thought—or a plan.

I _always _had a plan.

The door swung open, and Lula stood there giving me a perplexed glare. "Well—are you comin' in, or are you gonna stand there all night lookin' like one of them automated Santy Clauses wavin' your hand up 'n down?"

She stood back to allow me access and gave me a good glimpse at why Tank had said her day had been rough. Dressed in a leopard print fuzzy bathrobe and matching slippers, her entire head of hair had been practically shaved off, leaving a skiff of tight, gold curls hugging her scalp. Face drawn and exhausted, she had a margarita glass in one hand and a leg of chicken in the other.

Honest to God, I didn't know what to say. "Uh—your hair—"

She grunted. "Had to have it chopped. My hairdresser said I done too much damage with all the grease I been usin' to slick it down under my Rangeman cap."

"Oh." _Exactly how was one supposed to respond to that?_

"It ain't no nevermind to me though. I been lookin' for a change." She led the way into the living area. "Tank don't like me stayin' the same for too long. He likes keepin' things spicy. Want some chicken?"

"Uh—no." And I didn't want to know about what Tank considered spicy either.

"Margarita?"

"I'm good. I merely wanted to see how you were doing. Yesterday was—rough."

Her attempt at an indifferent exterior crumpled before my eyes. Taking a healthy swig from her glass, she tossed the chicken onto a plate on a side table and motioned for me to take a seat on what looked to be a red velour couch straight out of a bordello.

"I ain't never seen nothin' like that in my whole life," she said, not even attempting to joke. "I been tryin' all day to find out somethin' about my girl. Tank's been busy over at your place, and the hospital won't tell me nothin'. Finally got her mother about an hour ago, but she all in a fuss over some unexpected company or somethin'."

"Stephanie's okay," I offered sincerely. "I saw her this afternoon."

Her face brightened. "Yeah? The babies too?"

One side of my mouth curled. "Them too."

"Thank God!" she breathed, sinking back exhaustedly into a plush zebra-striped throw cushion. "I been worryin' myself sick. Connie too. Even stupid ass Vinnie didn't know nothin'." She took another deep swallow before her eyes studied me speculatively. "Connie did say you were at the office this morning talkin' to Vinnie. I suppose I'm goin' back to him now, huh."

My eyes swept over the rest of the living room while I thought of how to answer, taking in the massive big-screen television that took up one whole wall and the set of club chairs in print matching the zebra cushion. A menagerie of cat toys, a scratching post and food dishes took up one whole corner as well, reminding me my best friend had a penchant for feline beasts.

"Where are the cats?" I asked, lifting my nose in disdain.

"Hunh!" Lula grunted. "I keep them things locked up in the guest room when Tank ain't here. Damned things make my nose run enough without them crawlin' all over me. When he's here, they ignore me, but as soon as he walks out the door, it's like I'm catnip or somethin'."

"Maybe it's the Crisco," I deadpanned.

Her eyes narrowed to the thinnest of slits. "Well, ain't you the funny one? And don't think I didn't notice you avoided my question. Go ahead and say it—I'm goin' back to Vinnie. It's okay; I can take it." She tossed the last of her drink down and thumped the glass hard on the table beside her—a definite case of actions speaking louder than words.

"You never answered my question," I noted, avoiding hers again. "How are _you _doing from yesterday?"

She opened her mouth to make a smartass comment, but stopped when she saw my no bullshit demeanor.

"Shaken."

I let out a slow breath. Her admission was huge in terms of building character and trust. You had to be honest with your fellow team members.

"It isn't everyday you shoot a gun."

"Oh, I've shot my gun plenty," she argued with a frown. "I just ain't ever hit nothin' before, 'cept maybe a toe or two."

_Jesus. _

I didn't even want to know. No doubt it had something to do with Stephanie and bounty hunting. The notion of how much trouble the two of them had found together made me sick to my stomach.

"Do you feel guilty?"

"Hell no!" she retorted, attitude fully back in place. "That bastard deserved all he got—and more."

And_ there _was the difference between Lula and Stephanie. I could remember times when Stephanie had been forced to shoot—and even kill. Afterward, she'd struggle for months with guilt. Groaning inwardly, I berated myself for having failed to emotionally prepare her better for what she'd face as a bounty hunter.

"Do you need to talk to someone about it?" I offered uncomfortably. The question brought Dr. Cheryl Sullivan to mind, someone else I was trying my best to forget.

She looked at me as though I'd morphed into one of her zebra chairs. "Are you nuts? Lula don't need no shrink poking in my head!" She closed her eyes briefly. "I'm just tired. Ain't you tired? Shit, all that rain and cold and hiking. Felt like I was a damned contestant on "Survivor" or somethin'."

"I'm tired," I acknowledged. And I was—tired of a lot of things. I was ready to board that plane for Miami and escape everything and everyone for a while.

Lula waved her hand. "I'll be fine by Monday. Just need another day to rest. This full-figured body of mine ain't used to all this runnin' around."

"You did a good job. Catching Stampler, shooting Bulldog, helping to keep Jessie calm—all of it. I'm proud of you."

Her eyes popped open to study my face, testing the depth of my sincerity.

"You are?" she wondered, breathless with hope. Evidently there was still a bit of hero worship left in her, and—truthfully—the idea was both flattering and a bit humbling.

"I am. You were a pain in my ass all week, but you did the job—and very well."

She stared at me with a considering expression for the longest time. Finally, she opened her mouth and said with graceful sincerity, "Thank you for helpin' me."

I didn't risk a smile, although I was definitely grinning on the inside. Her gratitude only proved what I already knew. She'd come a hell of a way both professionally and personally with my help.

And I was damned good.

"You're welcome."

She huffed, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "It won't be so bad going back to the office. I miss my girl Connie, and someone has to be keepin' an eye on Vinnie, the little weasel."

"You're not going back just yet."

"I'm _not_?" Hope flashed but was quickly stifled. "I mean—_oh really_?"

Barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I continued, "I'm leaving for Miami Monday. I'll be gone at least a couple of weeks—if not longer. I've arranged for you to continue with your training at Rangeman in my absence."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Who's gonna run the bonds office? Steph's gone, Bulldog's in jail—how the heck is Vinnie gonna stay afloat without me?"

"Not your worry," I advised smoothly, letting her know with my tone to drop the subject.

"Uh—okay—just as long as someone's payin' me, 'cuz Lula can't be shootin' at people for free."

"Maybe try to keep the shooting to a minimum while I'm gone."

"Hunh. Like that's ever gonna happen." Her eyes went soft. "You got me workin' with my Love Bear again?"

_Dear God. _The sudden image of Tank in bed in a bear costume came to mind, and a chill ran down my spine.

"No! No Love Bear, and no more crazy outfits. Lester's going to work with you."

"Fine. I'll be there Monday mornin' around ten."

"You'll be there at seven sharp."

"Seven! Gawd—Lula don't ever get up at seven—unless there's a Black Friday shoe sale at Macy's."

"In the gym, fully prepared to walk ten miles on the treadmill."

Her jaw dropped. "_Ten _miles! Why there won't be nothin' left for my Love Bear to love."

"Bring Love Bear along. He could use the workout too."

Squinting at me in annoyance, she groused, "You're a tough son of a bitch, you know that Batman?"

The corner of my mouth lifted.

"Superheroes don't eat donuts," I parlayed, and then grew serious. "You want to do this, Lula? You want a piece of the real action?"

She nodded without comment.

Standing, I looked down upon her. "Monday morning then—seven sharp."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"I don't care what my chart says. I'm having a meatball sub for dinner," I said bullishly, staring down at the grey piece of Salisbury steak on my tray.

The nurse standing next to me barely restrained a glare. "Mrs. Morelli, you've already put off eating way longer than the other patients. It's late. Your babies—"

"Will _love _having a meatball sub when my husband gets here. Now go away," I demanded, having lost my patience with the revolving door of medical personnel hours ago. "Who are you again?"

"I'm Eileen, one of the charge nurses on duty tonight."

"Jesus—you're like the fifteenth person I've seen in twenty-four hours. Doesn't anyone work more than an eight-hour shift any more?"

I was tired, achy, hadn't had a shower in almost two days and now had a terrible cold. Worse yet, I was grumpy and missing Joe. We hadn't spoken in _hours._ I had no idea what was happening with his family. To top it off, my stomach desperately wanted to eat, but not any of the institutional food Brunhilda the nurse was trying to force down my throat.

"Go find Pollyanna from earlier," I instructed irritably. "She'll tell you it's okay for me to have the sub. Better yet—go find Dr. Hamilton."

_Eileen_ maintained her smile, although an awful lot of teeth were showing. Come to think of it, they looked sort of clenched together. _Hunh. _Not that I cared. Just bring me something that tasted better than runny Jello and cardboard mashed potatoes, and I'd quit bitching. Looking around the room for the rest of the pineapple upside down cake my mother had brought, I almost missed her response.

"Dr. Hamilton is performing an emergency C-section right now, and Suzanne's shift ended a couple of hours ago." She raised her eyebrow. "It's just you and me—all—night—long."

"Oh joy," I smiled back in an equally fake manner. "Can't wait to—ah—ah—"

The door to the room swung open right as I sneezed, and Joe walked in carrying a familiar bag in one hand and a huge vase of yellow-stemmed roses in the other.

"Hey," he greeted huskily, taking in my red nose and flushed appearance.

He looked downright edible in a worn pair of jeans, boots, a dark grey sweater and his leather jacket. Beside me, Brunhilda let out an involuntary sigh and surreptitiously ran a hand over her strawberry blonde hair before thrusting her shoulders back, giving me even more reason to hate her.

Releasing a low growl in the back of my sore and scratchy throat, I shot her the death glare. Trouble was it worked on her about as well as it did on everyone else in my life. I was really going to have to work on that thing before the twins became teenagers.

Joe walked around the side of the bed and leaned down to kiss me.

Pulling back, I shook my head. "Better not. You don't want this cold."

"Are you kidding? I've been waiting all day for this kiss. To hell with germs." He dropped a short but very proprietary kiss on my lips at the same time he handed me the flowers.

"They're gorgeous," I breathed, wishing my nose weren't plugged so I could absorb the intoxicating aroma of both the bouquet and my man. "But so many?"

He grinned. "A dozen for every week we've been married. Happy anniversary, Cupcake—three weeks today."

My heart burst with love, knowing the gesture most likely hadn't been slickly planned but more of a spur of the moment decision downstairs when passing by the gift shop.

The move was classic Joe.

On the other side of me, stupid Eileen sighed like a friggin' teenaged girl at a Justin Bieber concert. She _really _needed to go away.

"Happy Anniversary," I smiled back, wishing I didn't look and feel so grungy. "Please tell me that's my meatball sub in the bag. I can't smell."

He sat down next to me and handed Eileen the tray of crap she'd brought. "As ordered." To Eileen, he said, "The night nurse in surgical ICU brought it up a few minutes ago. The gal down at the nurse's station had it approved."

"Oh. Of course," my new nemesis agreed, while casting me a look that said, 'you may have won the battle, but I _will _win the war. "But perhaps Stephanie would like some of this delicious spinach to go with it. You know, iron is _so _good for the babies."

Before I could open my mouth, Joe removed a different dish from the tray in her hands. "How about this salad instead? It's green and leafy." He waved his hand. "Go ahead and take the rest of that away though, will you? Forget Steph—the smell alone is enough to make _me _want to puke."

"Certainly," she gushed. "I'll just come back later to see what you need, _Stephanie_."

"That's _Mrs._ Morelli—and thanks," I effused back.

As soon as she walked out the door, I ripped into the bag in front of me. "I hate her. You should have her fired."

Joe snorted, opening the wrapper to his own sandwich. "If I had every woman fired who's pissed you off, I'd be too busy to do my job." His eyes gleamed as he took a bite. "And I'm _very _good at my job."

My sub was halfway to my mouth when it hit me. "Something happened."

A full-fledged shiteater grin met my remark. "Hell yeah, something happened. A _whole lot _of something happened."

"Tell me!"

He nodded at my sandwich. "Only if you eat. You need to build your strength back."

Obediently, I took a bite. "Talk."

He laughed freely, and for the first time since our honeymoon seemed truly loose and relaxed.

Swallowing the bite he'd taken, he said, "I don't even know where to begin. First, Tony's awake and off the ventilator."

My eyes practically bugged out of my head. "Omigod—that's unbelievable compared to where he was this morning!"

"Yeah. It was a total shock for us too. Paul and I stopped in a little bit ago, and—"

"Wait. You and _Paul?" _I was beyond incredulous._ "_He's free?"

The grin simply wouldn't leave his face. "He is. Cleared of all charges."

"When—how?" I could barely get the words out. Sniffing loudly, my tone grew petulant. "Quit dropping these little bombs on me, Morelli and _talk_!"

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"I _am _talking."

"No, you're teasing."

"Isn't that the same thing with us?" I teased yet again.

"JOE!"

"Okay, okay, calm down." Motioning toward her sandwich, I nudged, "Keep eating—salad too."

"This salad is going up your 'you know what' if you don't start _talking!" _she retorted, stabbing a fork in my direction.

Seeing Steph so full of Jersey attitude and knowing she and our children were safe and slowly recovering had me feeling as hopeful and happy about the future, as I'd felt the night I'd married her three weeks prior. The sounds of the fetal monitor swishing in the background only served as further confirmation my precious family was safe. In fact, for the first time in two weeks, I had the relief of knowing my _entire _family was safe.

Stephanie noticed my grin turning lazier and more loving and blushed self-consciously.

"What?" she asked embarrassedly.

Shaking my head, I reached out to run a finger down her cheek. "Nothing. Just thinking about how much I love you—how happy you make me."

My response may not have been flowery or overly sentimental, but it was the truth.

Her cheeks flushed an even deeper red, but her gaze never wavered as she whispered back, "I love you too. So much."

Amazing how three simple words could both energize and soothe at the same time. God knows Stephanie had struggled for _years _to even be able to say the sentiment out loud. And now that she _was_ freer and more comfortable with showing love and affection toward me, I never grew weary of it. I never would.

Glancing down at her hospital gown, she continued, "I only wish I looked better. It's tough to compete with a busty Brunhilda when you feel like crap."

"What the hell's a busty Brunhilda?"

She fairly growled, "The witch of a nurse who was just in here. The one you're going to have fired."

I was dumbfounded. "You can't be serious. You look beautiful to me."

She made a face. "I'm already starting to look like Rudolph with this cold. And I'm a big, greasy, gritty mess. I'd give anything for a shower."

I couldn't blame her for feeling grouchy and dirty. While the nurse had wiped off the worst of the swamp the night before, it would take more than a sponge bath for Stephanie to feel completely clean—both physically and mentally.

"Has anyone said when you might be able to get up and around?"

"One of the twenty faceless, nameless nurses I've seen today said maybe tomorrow morning."

My tone turned serious. "Has Dr. Hamilton been in to see you again?"

"No, he's been busy down in delivery all day, but he did order another sonogram. Some tech came up late this afternoon to do it. She wouldn't let me see anything though." Her face fell. "God, I'm going stir crazy already! How the hell am I supposed to stand this for an entire week?"

_Who could blame her for feeling down_?" I know it stinks, Cupcake—"

She waved me off, taking another bite of salad. "I'm just out of sorts. Quit stalling, and tell me what happened at the precinct, so I can get my mind on something else. I want to know everything happening outside these four walls!"

Taking another bite of my own sub, I began the tale, starting with when I'd arrived at the precinct to find our friends gathered in the bullpen to help. I shared my conversation with Rogers, my interrogation with Jessie and the discovery of the journals incriminating Stampler, along with the ballistics evidence—linking Bulldog to the murder of Jason Meachum.

"Let me get this straight. Stampler killed Nagel; Meachum killed Myra and Bulldog killed Meachum and his gang?" Stephanie summarized disbelievingly. "My God, Joe—it's like a friggin' circle of blood."

"Pretty much," I agreed dryly. "Another piece of good news is I talked with Eddie on my way over to the hospital tonight. Someone finally had a chance to follow through with the police in Columbus. Turns out they've been searching for Bulldog for two weeks on suspicion of killing a man who'd gone FTA on a weapons charge."

"So he was operating illegally as a bounty hunter in Ohio too?"

"Looks that way. A lot of bond agency owners don't necessarily care about following the rules."

Steph should know. She'd certainly worked for one who'd bent them on more than one occasion to suit his purposes.

"What about Jessie? What's going to happen to her?" she fretted. "It makes me sick to think of her having to stay in a foster care facility knowing she's so scared and sickly. Did you at least—"

No better time to drop my next bombshell.

"Jessie is with your parents."

The look Stephanie gave me was priceless. It would probably take a crane to lift her jaw off the floor.

"You're joking."

My lip curled. "Do I ever joke?"

Her eyes narrowed. "All the time."

"Well, not _this_ time. She's probably sound asleep right now in your old room."

"And my mother agreed to this." Her tone was still disbelieving.

"Yep. Immediately—when I called to explain the situation."

"My father?"

"When I left, he was taking Jessie into the living room to watch college football with your grandmother and him."

Her face paled. "Omigod—Grandma Mazur! You left that poor girl there with _her! _What the hell were you thinking, Morelli—sending an impressionable child into that nuthouse. I can only imagine the things Grandma—"

"Relax," I snorted. "She's hardly an impressionable child. Your grandmother already asked to see Jessie's drug cache, and somehow we all lived through it."

Stephanie gasped disapprovingly. "Oh dear God, Joe—"

Reaching out, I grabbed a hold of her hand and pulled it to my lips for a kiss before setting back onto the bed.

"Cupcake, it's going to be okay. Your mom will work with the social worker and me to figure this whole thing out. But for now it's a safe place where Jessie can get nutritious food, have a bed to sleep in and people around to provide some sense of stability. Had the situation been different, I would've asked _my _mother, but—"

"No—you're right. That wouldn't have worked," Steph interrupted quietly. "Not with Paul and Tony in the picture." She gave me a reluctant smile. "You did a good thing."

"I feel responsible after what my brothers did to her," I admitted grimly.

She squeezed my hand. "It's okay. Your sense of duty and honor is but _one _of the many things I admire most about you."

"Well, I'm completely out of my element dealing with a teenager, but I didn't know what else to do. She needs help."

"Yes, she does. Speaking of which, I'm glad Chief Reynolds was there to help _you _navigate the political bullshit with Rogers and Johnson. He sounds like someone I'd like to meet."

"You'd like him," I agreed. "He was instrumental in helping to get Paul released."

"What do you think is going to happen to Tony?"

"He's going to have to face Judge Shepherd as soon as he's well enough—" My stomach knotted as I remembered his precarious health. "—_if _he gets well. He's still not out of the woods by a long shot. Beyond that, I don't know. I imagine he'll have to serve some sort of jail time. No matter if he's innocent, he did commit a felony by not appearing in court."

"Do you think Angelina and Adrienne will take those two back?"

"Seeing as Angelina was the first person I ran into this morning, I say the answer is more than likely 'yes'."

"But will Paul and Tony stay faithful?"

_No. _

"That's the million dollar question, isn't it," I responded sarcastically, already knowing the answer. "Right now, I don't care. I don't care about anything but the three of you."

Sensing my attitude changing from elated to exasperated, Stephanie took our wrappers and set them aside, along with her empty salad bowl. Sinking further into the cushions, she patted the spot next to her. "There's room for one more next to us right now."

Not waiting to be asked twice, I carefully slid in beside her on the bed, so that we were in much the same position as the night before when I'd held her. With one arm wrapped protectively around her and the babies, my free hand began to play with the curly strands of her hair. We lay there without speaking for several peaceful minutes. No sound was heard except for Steph's sniffling and coughing as well as the fetal monitor.

Finally, she mentioned casually, "It's no big deal, but I've been kind of surprised your mom and Grandma Bella haven't stopped by to see me—or at least to check on how the babies are doing."

_Shit! I'd forgotten to tell her I'd forbidden my family anywhere near her. _

I responded evenly, "I told them not to come up."

Stephanie angled her head to look at me in surprise. "What? Why?"

My jaw tightened. "I don't want to be around my mother right now, and I don't want _her _around you."

"Joe—"

"Steph, I try not to ask much of you," I cut her off rather harshly, "but I'm asking you to respect how I feel about my family right now."

_Damn it, that was NOT what I'd wanted to say. _I was tired, and my ability to self-censor had apparently disappeared.

"And how exactly _do _you feel?" she pushed testily.

"I just told you. I don't want to be around my family, and I especially don't want them near you—not after _their_ actions nearly cost me _my _family."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

His blunt answer was enough to set my hormones off.

"You don't decide who I see or don't see."

_Calm down, Stephanie—he's tired. He's tired, and so are you. _My brain knew that to be true. Unfortunately my pregnant mind wasn't on the same page.

Joe sighed, dropping his head back against the pillow. "I'm sorry—that didn't come out right."

"I'll say!"

_Let it go. Let it go. _

I took a deep breath to steady my emotions, while he shifted on the bed to pull me even closer. Despite my anger, I realized something important about myself. I really _had _matured. Before we were married, my first instinct would've been to run at the first sign of conflict between us—afraid of what Joe might think or say. Now I only _wanted _answers to what was going on inside that analytical head of his.

He let out another sigh against my ear. "I don't want to fight with you, Steph."

"I don't want to fight either," I conceded, still a bit sulky. "But why would you say something so stupid?"

Weary brown eyes met mine. "I'm burned out, Cupcake—totally and completely burned out."

His quiet confession floated between us, a desperate plea for a reprieve, and immediately my anger dissipated.

"I know you are," I agreed, slowly calming down.

"Today was huge," he admitted, "and I'm glad my brothers are both safe, but I'm so fucking tired. I simply don't have the energy to talk about them any more tonight."

"It's okay. I'm sorry too. You don't have to say _anything_—"

"And remembering my childhood doesn't change the fact that my entire family purposely withheld the truth from me," he continued in frustration, determined to give me an explanation for his surly attitude. "Right now I feel about them the way I did about our relationship a couple of weeks ago. I still love them, but I don't trust them, and I don't feel a strong connection to any of them—especially my mom."

"That may be true, but Joe, she only withheld the truth out of love for you. At some point you're going to have to put yourself in her shoes and try to understand she did what she had to do in order to protect her family."

"Well that day isn't today," he returned staunchly. "I need a break—especially from them."

"For how long?"

"However long it takes."

I was getting concerned. Undoubtedly, Joe had every right to feel exhausted after all the stress he'd been under, but this deepening resentment I sensed in him didn't seem very healthy either. It was like being with an emotional ticking time bomb, and I was scared to death of what would happen once he exploded and released all those years of pent up frustration.

"Will you at least talk to Cheryl about it?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound too worried.

He shrugged. "I really don't want to talk about any of it right now, okay?" Placing a gentle kiss on my temple, he managed a smile. "If you want to talk, tell me about your conversation with Manoso this afternoon."

_Oh Jeez. _I turned and buried my face against his neck, so he wouldn't see the instantaneous horror that'd filled my eyes. I had no intention of lying to Joe—never again—but telling him about Ranger's plan was definitely not a good idea in his present state of mind.

"It can keep," I quickly assured in a muffled voice. "Let's do something else." Pulling back, I looked up at him with what I hoped was a benign expression. "Want to see if hockey is on?"

Joe's eyes immediately narrowed.

"What did he say to you?" he asked in a low, suspicious voice. His eyes were like twin flames of hot chocolate.

"Nothing that won't keep," I repeated a little more forcefully. _Or was it apprehensively?_ The sweat pooling under my armpits had me thinking the latter.

Joe slid out from our embrace to stand beside the bed. "You're avoiding the question."

"No, I'm not," I denied, the edge back in my tone. Much as I wanted to tell him about Ranger's job offer, it simply wasn't the right time.

"Yes, you are."

"It was a friendly conversation. He was concerned after what happened yesterday, and—"

Joe's expression went from hot to cold. "Now I _know _you're hiding something. Manoso doesn't _do _friendly, and he certainly wasn't "concerned" yesterday. He was fucking beside himself, as was I. The guy is _in love _with you, Stephanie. When are you going to understand that?"

The ticking time bomb was about to detonate—with or without my help.

"I thought we were through with these stupid games," he accused, crossing his arms in front of him defensively.

Pushing myself up into a sitting position, I tried to appear unfazed by his attitude. _Tell him the truth._ "I'm _not _lying. He merely wanted to make certain the babies and I were okay."

Joe's teeth were clenched. "And what else?"

"Stuff—you know—chitchat."

"Chitchat. What the fuck? Manoso doesn't chitchat. What did he—"

"Stop interrogating me!" I snapped, glaring up at him. "I'm not one of your suspects. I'm your wife—your very pregnant wife, who almost died yesterday, remember?" _Great, Steph—lay the guilt on a little thicker, why don't you? Why couldn't I just answer the goddamned question?_

The heat was back. Joe's eyes practically melted my skin with the intensity of his frustration.

"I'll remember it every day for the rest of my life," he responded fervently.

An awkward silence hung between us, while we both assessed our next moves.

Taking in my disheveled and distraught appearance, Joe's face softened slightly. "Shit—I did it again. I'm sorry, Steph. You're not well, and I don't want you getting worse because of me and my possessiveness when it comes to Manoso."

_Aargh!_ I couldn't let him worry and wonder all night simply because I was afraid to tell him the truth. Something Cheryl said during our conversation that afternoon came to mind.

"_Joe needs to know your relationship is rock solid and that he can count on you, because every other area of his life is now completely fucked up."_

I _had _to stop being afraid of Joe's emotions and reactions. Hiding things from him had never worked in the past, and it certainly wasn't going to work now, even if my intentions were honorable. Withholding information simply because _I _thought it was for his wellbeing was the exact same thing his family had done to him, and look at how that had turned out.

He was right—there was no room left for games in our marriage.

"Ranger came by to talk about payment for his services this past week," I offered meekly.

Joe's eyes went flat faster than Lula could get a donut to her mouth. He was instantly in cop mode.

"Why to you? I'm the one who hired him," he demanded in a clipped tone.

"Because he wanted to talk to me about it first."

It was like waving red flag in front of a bull. "And why the hell was that? This has nothing to do with you."

"Well, actually it does, but you're not going to like it."

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

"Cherylyn, there is absolutely no excuse for your not returning a phone call to your mother."

"There is when I haven't been in a position to call you back," I foolishly retorted into the phone.

"Impertinence doesn't become you, dear."

_No, but spinelessness does. _When would I ever get a backbone when it came to this woman?

It was eight thirty, and I was neck-deep in bubbles and ear-deep in Bublé, that is the ear not attached to my cell phone.

After visiting Stephanie and my run-in with Carlos Manoso, I'd gone in to work for several hours to play catch-up on all I'd missed during my excursion through the swamp the previous day. My boss Evan LeMaire had stopped in while I was there—mostly to give me the riot act for once again having gotten involved with a client. After assuring him I was not overly invested in the Morellis (a slight fib), he'd also spent time updating me on several cases, including the fact that another of my former clients—Javier Sanchez—had been released from prison after having served six months for assaulting his land lady with a knife.

Later, I'd headed over to the gym for a butt-kicking martial arts class, effectively eliminating the last of my frustration over my run-in with Manoso, and followed it up by stopping for a massive burger at a heart attack drive thru near my apartment. Now it was bubbles, Bublé and the cultured, if not whining, tones of Barbara—my socialite mother—droning in my ear.

Using my big toe to turn the hot water up even higher, I rolled my eyes and gave my usual response to her impertinence complaint. "I'm sorry if I don't conform to your expectations, Mother."

"I heard that eye roll right through the phone line," she returned tartly, "Another thing that certainly doesn't become a woman of your standing."

"Well, I'm not standing right now. I'm drowning in a bathtub of bubbles, so I guess I'm safe," I quipped. Before she could chastise me further, I hastily added, "What did you want anyway?"

"To offer you a friendly reminder you're expected home for Thanksgiving."

"Thanksgiving! Mother, it's only the tenth. Thanksgiving is still two weeks away."

"Twelve days," she said coolly. "Dinner will be at one o'clock sharp. Your brothers will all be here, and I've taken the liberty to invite the Colburns as well. Elizabeth said Macon was in town and would love to see you."

My hamburger turned to stone in my stomach. _Shit._

"No," I said firmly. "I won't come if he's there."

"Don't be ridiculous—of course you'll come. Everyone, including Macon, has forgiven you for practically leaving him at the altar, although I still can't understand why you did—"

"Because I don't love him," I enunciated through my clenched teeth. _Not to mention the fact he was a lecherous, lying and cheating asshole!_

"Love has nothing to do with marriage, and you know it," she snapped. "It's about position and honor and—"

"And security. Yes, I know. You've been drilling the same goddamned message into my head since I was three years old."

"_Really, _Cherylyn. Must you always be so vulgar! No wonder you aren't married. That toilet-talk of yours would certainly be a turnoff to any man of good breeding. It's your time in the Air Force that's brought it out in you. Why on earth you insisted upon serving—"

"I hate to break this to you, Mother, but it was eight brothers and a three star general for a father that taught me to swear." _Time to hang up before the conversation deteriorated any further. _"Listen, I appreciate the call, but I'm tired."

"Yes, I'm sure poking into people's heads is exhausting," she noted sarcastically.

The fingers of my right hand clenched beneath the water's surface. "My work is important—"

"Of course it is," she hummed, clearly uninterested. "Don't you even think about letting me down for Thanksgiving, young lady. If you don't want to come the night before—fine, but you _will _be here by one o'clock for dinner. And you'll be wearing a dress and a smile as well."

"Don't threaten me—"

"Your brothers will all be here," she announced crisply, and then dug the knife in further. "Chip too."

_Damn it. _My youngest brother Chip, who also happened to be my favorite of the eight, was currently in his last year in the Air Force Academy out in Colorado. I hadn't seen him in almost a year. I'd be crazy to miss the opportunity, and my mother knew it.

"You keep me on the opposite end of the table from Mac, and I'll come," I agreed in defeat, "but it definitely won't be until Thursday."

"In a dress, Cherylyn—not one of those pantsuits you're always wearing."

_Maybe I'd go in jeans just to spite her._

"Good-night, Mother."

Disconnecting, I set the phone on the edge of the tub and dropped my head back against the bath pillow behind me. Honest to God, the woman drove me nuts! It didn't take the counselor in me to know I had massive "maternal issues". My inability to understand my own mother had been one of the driving forces behind my decision to study psychology in the first place.

Christ, I needed a drink after that cheery little phone visit. Going and sitting among my parents, my brothers, their wives, girlfriends, children and now Mac and his family made me suddenly _very _unthankful for the whole holiday. It wasn't that I didn't love my family, but it was definitely hard being the only girl in the midst of that much testosterone, especially when my mother and I barely got along. My brothers' wives were okay, but they too were stuck in the social and military circles of Boston—two places I'd always done my best to avoid.

And now I'd have to deal with Mac too.

My chest squeezed tighter at the thought of my former fiancé—a major in the United States Army, Special Forces. The son of my parent's best friends, we'd grown up together, constantly battling over whom was best—Air force or Army. Despite the fact, he'd driven me crazy with his arrogant, pompous ways, he'd been my first friend, first kiss, first lover and eventually first fiancé—well, technically my _only_ fiancé.

Spurred on by our parents and our own assumptions we'd one day marry, we eventually succumbed to pressure and got engaged following my graduation from Harvard and his from West Point. Blindly, I'd adhered to 'the plan', allowing my mother to oversee preparations for the wedding. Like a friggin' lemming, I'd gone along with everything—not realizing my lack of interest wasn't due to not being interested in weddings, but rather not being in love with the groom.

It wasn't until I'd stumbled upon Macon in bed with not one, not two, but _three_ other women in his apartment the night before our rehearsal dinner that I awakened from my stupor. Called on the carpet, he gave me some lame ass excuse about sowing the last of his wild oats or some other such bullshit.

The day of my wedding found me on a plane to California where I enlisted in the Air Force and became part of a unit stationed at Edwards Air Force Base. Following a tour in Iraq, I went back to grad school, earning my Ph.D. in Psychology. Eventually, my path led to Trenton about a year ago, when my boss Evan, an old college friend from Harvard, had invited me to join his practice. While I wasn't making a ton of money, the flexibility of my schedule allowed me to pursue my true dream, which was to one day write a psychological thriller—the one I'd been doing research for the night I ran into Ranger at The Pokey.

Thinking of Ranger made me realize how similar he and Mac were in several ways. Both Army and both Special Forces, they had equal amounts of ability and arrogance. The difference was Carlos Manoso was a 'man's man', while Mac had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. Of course in all honesty, they both had an equal amount of good looks too. But where Mac was fair like a Ken doll, Manoso was dark and sensual and drop dead dangerous for a women's heart—except my heart was no longer interested in a military man. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt—thank you very much.

The phone rang beside me. My first inclination was to ignore it, but remembering Joe and Stephanie; I knew I needed to answer it.

Without bothering to look at the caller ID, I answered wearily, "Cheryl Sullivan."

"So the good doctor is finally in," a distorted, metallic-sounding voice, which had been obviously modified electronically, grated in my ear. _What the hell?_

Sitting up, I asked cautiously, "Who's calling?"

"Your worst nightmare. You know you've missed me."

My heart beat faster, as I frantically tried to place the distinctively male voice. It was no use though; it'd been altered too much.

_Stay calm, Cheryl. _"You're going to have to help me out, I'm afraid. I'm not placing the voice."

A low snicker met my remark. "Did you like my poem?"

"You mean the note on my door?" I fumbled with my phone, wishing I could record the conversation. "I didn't really understand it. You'll have to clue me in."

"Oh, I think you understood just fine. I'm coming to play soon, doc. Are you ready for me?"

"Play?"

"Don't act stupid. You've held me off long enough, bitch. I'm going to taste every inch of that hot, little body of yours. You'll be begging for mercy before I'm done with you."

Fear was rapidly taking over common sense. _Who was this?_

"Maybe you should come to my office, so we can talk—"

"Oh, I'm coming all right, and I'll be coming real hard when I ram myself over and over inside that tight bottom of yours."

The fingers of my spare hand were gripping the sides of the tub. "Don't—"

"Soon, Cheryl. Tonight? Tomorrow? Next week? You'll never know. But I _am _coming."

The phone went dead, and I practically fell out of the tub in my haste to make it to the toilet in time to expel the hamburger I'd eaten. Still on my knees, I grabbed my bath towel and wrapped it around my shivering frame. _Oh God. Who in the hell had that been?_

Hastily slipping my arms into my robe, I raced around my apartment checking locks on all the doors and windows. Suddenly, I wished for a big dog or a gun or at least a big, male neighbor next door rather than old Mrs. McGarry, who was ninety if a day and deafer than a doorknob.

I finally ended up back in bed with a glass of wine, my phone and a carving knife from the kitchen. Determined to stay awake all night if necessary, I turned the TV on and went to work telling myself not to overreact. For all I knew it could've been kids playing a practical joke. By the first commercial break, I'd succeeded in my mission.

It'd been a practical joke—nothing more.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Why won't I like it? Is he asking for a ridiculous amount?"

Steph opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. _What was wrong with her?_

Shooting her an exasperated scowl, I pushed harder, "I told him to name his price, and as long as the price wasn't _you, _I'd pay it."

Gulping, she twisted her wedding and engagement rings around her finger, and suddenly I knew.

_Goddamn it! _The answer was as clear as day.

"That's it, isn't it? _You're_ the price."

She finally found her voice. "Yes, but it's not what you think—"

"Son of a bitch—I'll kill him."

"Joe—"

"I'll fucking kill him," I seethed, pacing the small area beside the bed. "How dare that asshole come in here and—"

"Let me finish before you lose control."

"Too late."

Fucking A—I'd lost control. I was flat out livid—angrier than I'd been over _anything _in the past two months. Here I thought I'd made some progress in dealing with Manoso—trusting him with the secrets of my past, relying on him to help me to find Stephanie, accepting the bitter fact he was in love with my wife and acknowledging my culpability in that messy little triangle. Hell, hadn't I arranged last night for him to have a chance to see her when I'd denied my own family the right?

And the _one _thing I'd forbidden when he'd agreed to help me was the _one _thing he'd chosen to throw back in my face.

Oh, I was going to destroy him all right. I'd had enough of this fucking bullshit. I didn't need it on top of everything else in my life. Obligation or not—debt or no debt, he'd pushed me too far.

"Joe—please—let me finish," Stephanie pleaded, reaching out an arm to grab on to mine and stop me from moving. "Sit down."

_Sit down? _It was a friggin' wonder I hadn't shot through the ceiling yet. I felt like a rocket ready for take off the way the adrenaline was pumping through my system.

"_Please_."

I sat down hard next to her. "You've got one minute, and then I'm going to find him."

She looked worried. "It's not what you're thinking—"

"It doesn't matter what I'm thinking. Did he refer to you as the price?"

She winced. "Well, yes, but—"

I moved to stand. "Then that's enough for me." I barely felt the nails of both Stephanie's fingers digging into my skin in restraint—such was my rage.

"He wants to buy out Vinnie and take over the bonds agency," she rushed to say. "And he wants me to run it. Actually, he wants us to be partners with him. He's offering us the chance to buy into the business."

"Us?" My eyebrows shot upward. "I highly doubt he's interested in _us_, Cupcake."

"Me," she stumbled. "To run it, I mean, but us to buy in, considering my money is your money." She was babbling now. "Actually your money is my money seeing as I have no money, but—"

She was seized by a coughing attack, and immediately I was convicted. _What were we doing? _Stephanie certainly wasn't well enough to be having a conversation of this magnitude. _Why hadn't I listened to her when she'd asked to put this off until tomorrow? _Much as I wanted answers, I needed to put an end to this nonsense.

I was still crazy with anger and jealousy. Right or wrong, my possessiveness was in full force. And after everything else I'd dealt with that day, the last thing I'd needed or expected was to have to fend off Manoso again. I had to get myself under control. Stephanie and the babies' health were more important than _anything._

She finally managed to choke out between coughs, "Joe, give me a chance to explain—"

"Not now, Steph," I said, hoping my soft tone offset the brusqueness of my command. Running a hand over my face, I tried to work up a smile. "We need to stop, Cupcake—seriously. You're upset and not feeling well. I'm upset and exhausted. The combination is a recipe for disaster."

"Yes, but don't you want to know what Ranger really said?"

I offered up a grim smile. "It'll keep."

"Who the hell do you think you're kidding?" she questioned, looking at me incredulously.

I shrugged. "No one, but it's the way it has to be—for now. You've already had a lot of activity and stress today. And I'm not willing to take a chance on getting you so upset that something happens to harm either you or the babies."

Stephanie opened her mouth to argue, and I cut her off again, "I'm serious, Stephanie. It's not worth it. _Manoso's_ not worth it to me. You and the babies are the _only _things that matter."

"Then when?" Though her eyes gleamed appreciatively in response to my impassioned statement, she asked the question uneasily.

I raised an eyebrow. "Did you tell him 'yes' already?"

"To the job?" She frowned. "Of _course _not! I wouldn't do that!"

"Then we have time. We need to get you out of here first—back home where you're safe, comfortable and feeling better, and I need to get my head on straight. _Then _we'll talk."

"Like either one of us is going to last that long—especially me."

Leaning over, I covered her lips in a kiss filled with both comfort and promise. We _would _have that conversation at some point. No way in hell was I _not _going to find out what Manoso was plotting, but I was a husband first and soon to be a father as well. My need for truth would have to wait.

"Your idea of watching hockey was a good one. Let's see if we can find the game. Maybe we can make out for a while too."

Stephanie still looked distressed. I gestured with my hand, "Come on—move over."

No sooner had I slipped back in beside her than the door to the room opened and Dr. Hamilton walked in. He was wearing street clothes and looked about as tired as I felt.

"Stephanie—Joe," he acknowledged, pulling a folder out from under his arm.

I moved to get up, and he waved me off. "Nonsense—no need." Without his lab coat, he seemed more relaxed and approachable.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get up here sooner, Stephanie," he apologized. "We've had a number of emergencies this weekend down in labor and delivery, and unfortunately all of my partners are out of town this weekend at a conference in Philadelphia."

He slipped on his stethoscope and motioned for Stephanie to sit up, so he could check her lungs.

"I was about to head on home for a few hours of sleep, but I wanted to check on you before I go. How are you feeling?"

Steph coughed. "I have a cold," she answered, the congestion in her head clearly evident.

He nodded. "Well, I don't think that's surprising. It'd be a miracle if you didn't come down with something after spending hours without shoes in the middle of a cold, wet swamp."

My blood raced anew at the memory of what all she'd endured yesterday, reinforcing my decision to put a stop to any more conversation about Manoso and his games.

"Should we be worried about pneumonia?" I asked nervously.

Dr. Hamilton inclined his head. "As I said last night, it's a concern—yes, but I think we've done the right thing by being proactive with the antibiotics. We can handle a cold. It's preventing anything further form happening that's important."

He consulted his chart. "Your BP has been good all day, although still incredibly low—90 over 50."

Stephanie's mouth quirked. "You should check Joe's. I'm sure his must be about triple that."

When the doctor looked at me quizzically, I shrugged. "I'm fine. Long day."

He nodded wearily. "I hear you." Referring to the chart again, he continued, "Unless I see significant change, I'm sticking to the one week bed rest here. We'll evaluate after that." His eyes narrowed, "And another thing, I allowed the sub tonight, but I expect you to stick to the high iron, high protein diet I've laid out for the nurses, starting tomorrow."

Steph groaned.

"You need to take this seriously, Stephanie."

"I am!" she protested miserably. "It's not the food. It's the _nurses_—all five hundred of them."

Dr. Hamilton allowed a short laugh. "All of whom have your best interest at heart."

"Hunh!"

"How about if I give you some good news to counter the bad."

Stephanie stopped pouting, and I had to smile. She never could resist a secret.

"What?" she demanded.

He pulled out a series of black and white photos from the file folder and handed them to her. "These are the results of this afternoon's sonogram. I thought you might like the first pictures of your babies." He paused and gave us both a smile. "When you start feeling frustrated, Stephanie, just look at these. You'll quickly find your motivation again."

I looked down at the grainy pictures, having no idea what I was seeing. "Are they okay?" I wondered anxiously. That was the only thing that mattered to me.

"They both look good," he confirmed. Seeing Stephanie's bemused expression, he laughed. "What's the matter? Can't figure out what's what?"

She turned the picture every which direction. "No!" she responded rather hysterically. "What kind of mother can't even recognize her own babies? Joe, I can't see anything! Do you see anything?"

She shoved a photo in my hand, and I blinked. "Uh—no."

The doctor laughed harder. "Relax. There isn't much to see." Using his finger, he pointed out two separate blobs. "Here's the first one. And there's the second."

Steph and I held the picture closer and stared. Soon she was sniffling, only this time it wasn't from her cold.

"They—they're beautiful," she breathed, tears slipping from her eyes.

My body uncoiled from the tension I'd held. "Just like their mother," I whispered, wiping away the tears.

Dr. Hamilton nodded approvingly before standing. "I'll leave you two to enjoy the pictures. Joe, you're welcome to stay here as long as you'd like, although I can't guarantee you much sleep. Those pullout beds are not that comfortable."

Without taking my eyes off my wife, I responded, "I'll be fine. I can sleep anywhere, but not away from Stephanie."

She smiled then, and her whole face lit up from within, causing my heart to stutter step. _No one _brought out more emotions in me than this woman, and the only emotion I was feeling right then was love.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Dr. Hamilton offered. "Get some rest, Stephanie."

"Oh Joe," she marveled, still staring at the fuzzy pictures after the doctor left the room.

"I know," I murmured back. We were both completely in awe—and in love with each other and the two blobs on those printouts.

For several moments, the only sound was that of the fetal monitor filling the room with its gentle, rhythmic beats. With Stephanie snuggled against me, I finally allowed my body to fully relax.

She traced one of the blobs reverently. "Everything else seems so unimportant now, doesn't it?"

"Very."

Our voices had dropped to hushed whispers.

"Do you suppose that's Joe Junior right there?" she asked, still awestruck.

"No," I said, shaking my head at her cheekiness. "We've had this conversation once already, remember?"

"But it's such a great name."

"As I said, I'm glad you like it, but it's not going to be the name of my son."

"How about your daughter then?"

"How about you give it up already."

She giggled. "Alright, then how about Dickie?" she asked impudently.

My lips pressed together, trying to prevent a smile from escaping. Two could play her game. "Okay—fair enough. Dickie and Joyce. Perfect."

Her face turned into a thundercloud. "Over my dead body, Joe Morelli." Seeing the teasing look on my face, her eyes took on a glint of their own. "Although Joyce would be better than Terry."

"Ugh—no Terry's," I shook my head.

"I'll say, _no _Terry's," she agreed grimly. "I still owe that bitch for what she did to my car."

Oh Jeez—I needed to get her on a different path—and fast.

"You _owe_ me too, you know," I noted, slipping the pictures from her hand and setting them on the nightstand before shifting, so my leg was atop hers.

"Yeah? How do you figure that?" She flashed me a smug grin to let me know she was on to my diversionary tactics.

"I figure you owe me for every minute of this week I've had to spend away from you. My love tank is running on empty. I think it needs a boatload of kisses to fill it back up again."

She bit her lip. "Are kisses going to be enough? And what about my cold?"

Brushing the hair off of her forehead, I gave Steph the smile reserved for her alone. "I'd _love _to share your cold, Mrs. Morelli, if it means kissing you." Before she could say another word, I added, "And stop worrying. Consider this to be the longest bout of foreplay you and I will ever have to endure. And when we finally get together again, it'll be—"

"Magic," she sighed dreamily, looking almost starry-eyed.

I snorted, comically rolling my eyes. "Nah—Magic is for amateurs who need illusions to get lucky. What you and I have is more like—"

She kissed me hungrily then, impatiently running her hands up around my shoulders to play with the hair at the back of my neck. When she lifted her head, her lips were swollen and her eyes at half-mast.

"Shazam?"

"Now you're talking, Cupcake."

The End

* * *

A/N - So when I wrote "Truth", I swore it was the hardest thing I'd ever written. The whole paternity test nightmare was a battle I thought I'd never surpass. But I have to eat my words, as I KNOW this story was the hardest thing I've ever attempted. Trying to keep track of the plot line alone was nightmarish at times. LOL!

You readers have been SPECTACULAR throughout this whole journey. I can't thank you enough for all of the feedback, both positive and negative. I've taken to heart each review and used them to help craft the direction of the plot. Special thanks to any Babes and Babecakes who've stuck with me. I appreciate your support so much.

You've read my thanks to them every chapter, but the truth is I would have given up long ago had it not been for the superb assistance I received from my two betas Julie and Kim. Whether it was helping me work through the plot, assisting with a timely idea or word or merely giving me a boost of encouragement through some of the more difficult chapters, they were there every step of the way. Ladies, thank you so much for taking time away from your own stories to help me whenever I needed it. Our friendship means the world to me!

I had to go back and refer to something I wrote in "Trust" today and noticed my A/N for the end of that story where I announced I was 'writing "Toys" and hopefully one more called "Truth" before calling it quits'. Now "Treachery" is done, and I'm here to announce I still have things to write about. Not sure if it'll be two longer stories, a couple of one-shots and a longer one or exactly what yet. I guess I'd better take time to figure it all out, which brings me to my next item.

I'm pooped! I've been writing for 10 months straight, and I'm finding it harder to keep up the pace of a weekly chapter with my "real life". So...

I'm going to take a short break. I mean it this time. LOL! I'm going to write like the dickens to be sure, but I want to get a head start on the next one, so I don't feel as much pressure to publish. Depending on how research, prep for the holidays, etc. go, I hope to post at least a little something before Christmas. If I can do it sooner, I promise to have it up, but hopefully you'll be willing to wait for me to catch my breath. :-)

Finally, thanks to JE for having created such wonderful characters. I may not agree with what she's chosen to do with them in recent years, but I dearly love each of their unique personalities.

Thanks again for your support. I hope you'll join me for "It's About Thanksgiving" coming soon!

Carol :-)


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